Archive for ‘January, 2016’

Featured: All Change

Bruce McRae

The coming and going of things,
time altering itself, adjusting temperatures,
refining seasonal light, making all the difference.

A darker morning than the month before,
Venus struggling in the lower atmosphere,
the stars reassessing their previous stance,
Planet Home circumnavigating the galactic rim,
pulling us by the hand as if an untoward child.

Sitting at the littoral edge of the world,
summer packing it in, autumn shaking in the wings,
alterations accruing at the cellular level,
otherness replacing otherness on the big wheel
and little I can do about it,
ruination unenviable but always in fashion.

Losing my …

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Featured: Telling How It Was/Is As/When We Get Old

Josh Anthony

Listen to the poem:


Nothing smart. Another drink. more smoke,           cover my skin in the nights,
the nights,              the nights. It comes with a light shift,
it comes with the absent fingers on my back. There’s the news.
Some turn of event.           Itching beneath the broken bone.
Flick off the ash from your sweater. Collapse the tent,
tilt your body weight into the dirt,           scratch your rib, part of an organ
that exploded when you were 10,000 years old.
This desk holds your weight well.
Someone takes a picture. Are you
yet? Where’s B.?         Sure that’s …

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Featured: A Vocabulary of Motives

R.A. Morean

Listen to the story:

I adjusted my Army Surplus belt and made sure I had extra pencils in the canvas flap.  The larger pocket was supposed to hold a metal canteen, but my diary fit perfectly. On the other side, the straps to tiny little kid fold-up binoculars were woven through the eyelets, and I had a snake bite kit in my rear pocket.  Not that there were that many rattlers, but I liked the romance. Ready to go out and play and “take notes” on people in my neighborhood I caught my friend staring at me, the …

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Featured: Final Inventory (On Her Dying)

David Anthony Sam

There the kitchen,

my kitchen,

age-warped windows

distorting the garden of burials

where four dogs

and twelve cats

molder my life

with a fence that keeps

their silence shaded in mornings

by the lilac

that needs thinning

and does not blooms

another spring.


Here my sink,

the right basin plugged slow

like the history of my veins—

And here my stove,

its four gas burners

that glow blue—

and the oven below

where I must bake

more bread.



Wait the door to my

dining room,

the dark walnut

dining table and buffet and china …

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