Evening of September 13, 2023


reliquary

the dog emperor

visits Earth

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel



I Dew


We only eat olives

in the twilight,

just as the kittens

begin

to darn

their socks,

for certainty

is a lousy lover,

little more than

fodder for the plot.

~Kelly Moyer



cone fizzled out

we thought and breathed a sigh

Vesuvius

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel



There are as many explosions as there are stars in the sky

Every night to underground storage and bunkers

An alarm siren sounds

 

Life is wonderful as if it started from an egg and not from a dead chicken

~Mykyta Ryzhykh



anniversary

of your death

stop texting me

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel



removing

last sliver of hope

tweezers

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



the sway of curtains

leaving

claw marks on the moon

~Kelly Moyer



harvested field

strewn with dead sparrows

development

~Bipasha Majumder (De)



so much meaning

packed in the singular question –

why?

~Jennifer Gurney



Religion is a hobby club for those who have never died

~Mykyta Ryzhykh



shells on the beach war

~Roberta Beach Jacobson



open bellies conceal simple truths

~Mykyta Ryzhykh



tropical jungle death of a thousand sucks

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel



unclaimed i tether myself to driftwood

~Kelly Moyer

Morning of September 12, 2023

the offspring's weight in rice the crops of sin

~Richard Magahiz



they like to dance  crypto tracking nodes glow amber

~Richard Magahiz



drunk by the feeder hummingblurred

~John Pappas



this space intentionally left blank verse

~John Pappas



armageddon

the mewl within her

peanut butter breath

~Jean-Paul Moyer


~ for Simone



my whiskers brushing both sides of the argument

~Patrick Sweeney



morning light

the heron becomes

an apostle

~John Pappas



tick

the mountains crumble

tick

you come back to me

~Richard Magahiz



slack tide

somewhere between

yes and no

~John Pappas



waiting out the rain

on a borrowed front porch –

the storm as company

~Jennifer Gurney



post-war existentialist shuffling to the broken rail in a ruined church

~Patrick Sweeney



the dynamic uncertainty of the butterfly's journey

~Patrick Sweeney



shopping for pillows with the left side of her head

~Patrick Sweeney