Author: Director

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
Each morning around four in the afternoon a crypt cracks opens and out you crawl, the shades Michael Hutchence’s valet leant you bravely fighting off the viciously sarcastic Irish sun. . Today you’ll be asked, by a last minute replacement for Dave Fanning, what it was like to fondle...

Poetry
Lana F. Call
the way my spine contorts like a bricklayer building a cathedral does this shape please you Lord . sexless arches these mounds of pious limestone laid at the feet of man or God . shaped men made in man’s image not from bone or Adam’s apple shaped I am this frame . without...

Poetry
Daniel Galvin
Met you on the last night of America— you dived in our cab as we pulled away. . We went on the bag, some apartment block roof, sun rising white and hot. You showed me the goals you’d scored that day, mimed the sweeping boots and turns. . The drugs...

Poetry
Dan Riley
Billy the Bird with his butt-plug sits in the corner, doesn’t say a word. It’s enough for Billy, with his hand on his willy to be seen, but not to be heard. . Observes as the party shifts on through the gears flesh slaps loin fat groin smears. Peers out through hand-cut chicken-head holes to where the moans and the...

Poetry
Daniel Galvin
I tell the bookshelf: . The heart’s a lot of things don’t mind the heart . If you had your way I’d be poking around in my ribs picking away at my own heart— I’d rather not . For all I know the thing could be reaching some sort of crisis swelling to splatter-point . Making...

Poetry
Peter O’Neill
For Sandra Sineux . After spending the morning in bed with the world and its press, We passed onto the little chores with the child running happily amongst us. After lunch, sleep came upon us then in the house. It was brought on by a plaintive voice Accompanied...

Poetry
Daniel Galvin
Ugly flowers wave us on you blast their arms aside manic profile gleaming teeth and gums I check for reassurance . There’s none my chest full of beating wings . You take a corner too hard we glide for ages I wish you had just tied me up and put me in the...

Poetry
Dan Riley
I walked with a man with a walking stick hand, a suitcase for eyeballs and a sock full of sand. Drank tea in a cave by a cherry stone laith, played chequers with adders, hammers and spanners. Crooned for the crows by a pile of old bones ate...

Poetry
Maire Carr
Holy Mary, Mother of God, how does your garden grow? An unholy tomb, A garden in Tuam. Blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus, Blessed is the fruit of thy womb. . You fight tooth and nail for the unborn child atop your pedestal, From foundations built on...

Short Fiction
Jeff Bagato
Stolen stories translated into new language—a language never before spoken—never to be spoken—the unspoken present time. Immediate words exist before signs. All language is past time. All past time is dead time. Language of past is language of future. Pussy is...