war
criminal first person plural
~Kelly Sauvage Moyer
My heart
is an open-faced sandwich,
prepared with blackened avocado,
a half-grind salt
and the glistening shards
of a dead woman’s dream.
~Kelly Sauvage Moyer
eating
my heart out spirochetes
~Kelly Sauvage Moyer
my AI buddy
does the heavy sifting
tells
me what to believe
~Mark
Gilbert
in my gorilla suit
I can’t solve the world’s problems
~Mark
Gilbert
a plastic bag of doggy poo
words I would have wanted
never
to have written
~Mark
Gilbert
orangeness
be gone
with
ye
~Roberta Beach Jacobson
I caw at the crow
perched alone
atop the dead tree…
it plays deaf
and
mute.
~Diane Webster
For a writer
a sentence handed down
would
be a good thing.
~Jon Spencer
staring sidelong
at his reflection
in the laptop’s
dark theme,
the hunched scholar
lifts up the chair
gripping fistfully
its
grilled rungs
~Marcus Ten Low
T'ai Chi —
balancing what refuses
to
settle
~Debarati Sen
midnight stroll
ghosts of the past
walking
in my footsteps
~Debarati Sen
Poetry
I have written her name
in countless ways mannered and colloquial
thru moonrise and sunset calm and storm.
Her name is poetry. She lives beyond the norm.
She walks in sunlights madness.
Bestows her kisses oh, so sparingly.
The fleeting glimpses of her beauty nothing to compare.
I'm
left in the wreckage. Left in the burning air.
~dan smith
spirit
birds and me kindred
~Rupa Anand
MIRROR
There
was a smudge on the mirror.
I wiped it with my sleeve.
With the smudge gone,
my wrinkles showed more clearly.
I
looked for a moment,
~Young-jin Lee
THE
SEAT
A seat opened up on the bus.
Two people spoke at once.
“Go
ahead.”
“No, you go ahead.”
While
they offered it to each other again,
a student who had just
boarded
walked between them and sat down.
~Young-jin Lee
beneath the moon
a
small flower opens
no one sees
~image and text Manasa Reddy
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