Afternoon of April 10, 2024


beginning to learn my bit part in the cosmic peekaboo

~Patrick Sweeney

unless I am corrupt never it could not

~J. D. Nelson

the mystical ardor in which she picks up a stone

~Patrick Sweeney

in the tree canopy nesting warheads

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

scraping the full-belly comments in the garbage can

~Patrick Sweeney

black mail blots in my lover’s copybook

~Patricia Hawkhead

fly is lectured idea rays

~J. D. Nelson

spider sense

at the base of my skull

the cup of his hand

~Patricia Hawkhead

A weather forecast

It will not rain in some days.

Suddenly it began to storm and rain.

I bow down to nature

The unpredictable met office.

~Partha Sarkar

highways closed yet

wind speeds at 100

miles per hour

~Jennifer Gurney

street art

canvases abandoned

at the curb

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

listen bub, unloading their carts

nobody wants a lecture

on the history of cinnamon

~Patrick Sweeney


are not



~Noah Berlatsky

all these years, the number of leaves on a shamrock

~Patrick Sweeney

spoon fed thin soup indeed

~dan smith

in eschatological terror of long-range planning

~Patrick Sweeney

sliced green apple praying hands

~J. D. Nelson

the Uber driver has a solution to the smash and grab

~Patrick Sweeney

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