Evening of April 22, 2023

The Two Chairs

we sat in this morning

in our pajamas

in the sunny kitchen

kissing

are still in the same position

this evening when I get home

in the dark I sit in

one

then the other

~Paul Hostovsky

Grammar

6 in the morning drunks 

hiccupping love letters to a departing moon 

as the sun blindingly rises 

with an exclamation point 

to end this tailspin of a run on sentence 

that spills its ink across the pages of 

the flea-bitten mangy hair 

of this dog day afternoon 

~Kevin Farrell

stacks of stolen kisses

consecutive serial numbers

retrieved by Navy divers

out at the quarry

~Rich Magahiz

Wing It


The rut I’m stuck in

is this shell

 masquerading as a temple

if this body is simply a vessel

then I’ve taken on water

am barely afloat

opting to sprout wings

rather than form gills

~Kevin Farrell

The Untied Stales

of America she has written 

over the map a little carelessly, 

transposing two letters, 

forgetting to cross one t, 

the map itself colored in 

a little sloppily, dark crayon 

spilling in from Canada

and bleeding into Mexico, 

and how perfect is that?

~Paul Hostovsky

Spanish Flea

My gym routine driven by scales,

piano, 5 finger exercise,

though damper on the sustained strings,

my mottled foot, jazz fleas, bite work.

The score, Tijuana Brass,

sound notes as jumping Spanish Flea,

though who cares nationality

when trumpet blasts blow fleas away.

We all had itchy feet that night,

in dingy basement with the roach.

~Stephen Kingsnorth

Faults

You were born into chaos before it became your shadow. You learned that your first heartbreak

didn’t unequivocally break you, it just prepared you for the future. You wondered why the stars

preferred not to be seen, then you understood them for retreating behind the shroud. You longed

as your dreams danced in the distance, only to taunt you in your sleep. You witnessed things

burn because there was no other way. You witnessed things burn because there should have been

another way. You felt your soul splash, sink, and swirl, like a tear that gets lost in a storm. And

still, the mountains patiently breathed.

~Zach Murphy

Lessons in Nostalgia



I’ve been up and coming since I’ve been down

the windows to my soul are boarded up

the door to the closet where my skeletons hang is always open


I know nothing of fine china and chandeliers


I’m from dull razor shaves and long roads back


with high friends in low places


where rock bottom is a foundation


not a means to an end


where we don’t adopt cynicism


we give birth to it

~Kevin Farrell

true true true    mechanized hosannas

~Rich Magahiz

Revision

There used to be

a live chicken in this poem.

There was a mountain

and a sailboat.

The Pacific Ocean

sloshing between stanzas.

And me like Adam

saying Here am I

to God who was also

near.

~Paul Hostovsky