Three Prose Poems by Georg Amsel, trans. from German by Lake Angela
The musicians play for the trees. Children dance on their stools while the wind sits still. Out the window it is a white year already. From whom shall we steal a new life? Fields glow a bright and dusty yellow from fallen sunshine, from pollinated rapeseed. Our legs were loaned by the wind... Read More
Little Green Brush by Meg Shevenock
What remains of me in bristles, is hair blonde and close as a lion’s fur. What remains of worms are carapaces. Putting disgust aside, I confess the worms are maggots, whose carapaces, indeed, once held hearts. The heart of a maggot is an arch or series of arches evolved to pump blood through the body...... Read More
Three Poems by Kirstin Allio
I was against the hypnotizing cliché, clouds gathered, shadow-puppeting the sheet of sand. The tide-line was stenciled in washed trash. A traditional line of waves kept breaking. Form and freeform. Forgiveness wasn’t a form of innocence, it was futuristic... Read More
Two Prose Poems by Dale Going
If you take a brown feather, if you line it just a tiny bit with black, if you look underneath the feather, if you look at me closely in the light, the chased, encasing air, the leaf from which the subject seems to grow, flowering in catkins, the fruit a small samara no man would... Read More
Fragments from Not Now Now by Sandra Doller
They take it a little far. I haven’t even considered you yet. I applied. You think I’m talking about it when I’m talking all around it. There in your little snow hut in the sun. There there in it. There was an audio file once of the audiophile in the wind. You couldn’t understand... Read More
BETRAYAL by Taos Lopez
It’s a love story that slits its own throat, but it’s not a story at all. It’s your life. Your heart beats as a reminder of the beating you’ve taken. If you could reach it you would pull the plug, but you can’t reach it so you reach for something else. First, you pick yourself... Read More
Six Poems from Flow state by Ryan Skrabalak
Write a music. Write a music more of with more no world, with things arranged. Things rearranged in no. World with no question (past, as night) in the mode of your fog. So that the fog was suited for your music and you made it with. Not owned. That’s your sense of this world... Read More
Four Prose Poems by Benjamin Paloff
I can only wonder at the decisions the ever-elsewhere hummingbird is weighing mid-air, but its suspension in all-at-onceness makes perfect sense in this “rarely” so rare as to mingle with never-forever. Taking the corner wide to skirt the black ice, there’s no need to keep looking... Read More
Four Prose Poems by Ken Taylor
if he talks his voice will not be the thing said, but the way of not saying it. what it aims to spurn. short on collar points. disciple of celestial steering. he keeps his mouth shut. the image will have to carry. not to be seen as holdup to action. he’s lost in thought in... Read More