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Poetry
Kevin Higgins
“Over 15,500 human remains incinerated to heat UK hospitals over 2-year-period. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/healthnews/10717566/Aborted-babies-incinerated-to-heat-UK-hospitals.html #800babies #outrage @amnesty” – tweet by Cora Sherlock of the Pro-Life Campaign . We must stop giving it away for nothing —our greatest natural resource— the Department of Finance estimates Tallaght Hospital could heat itself entirely...

Poetry
Elisabeth Horan
I told you once I loved you. It matters somewhat now— not because of how I feel, but because I have to be there when you die. I have to know when you go. It cannot be after the fact. The loss, the noise, all distance between. The memories, which lose...

Poetry
Kofi Fosu Forson
Vanessa for the years. A caption would read—Disentanglement. Leg of it predator supposing an undertaking come up from filth, Like laundered sheets after menstrual cycle. Ninotchka Madam, If in a garden, tulip or else demoiselle. Heartbreak, his command. How it roped her into coil. Pull...

Poetry
László Aranyi (Frater Azmon)
The evening of staggering drunks, he is after hangdog, Weasel-faced streetwalkers. Whom he points his carved stick at, . or whom he stigmatises with his finger on the bare skin, they will not be disgusted ever again by the touch of his rigor mortis, but...

Poetry
James Diaz
why the long way around and maybe not just this one time wrapped tiny against that warp in the woods holly-hills singing lost little dear I know each thing that burns I feel it too skin deep the bone the neon sign missing a few letters we’re all missing...

Poetry
Peter Marra
haunted nursery rhymes slowly strumming with patient measure vision mental (including psychosomatic) taste of her juices . at 4 a.m. she buried the pistol in the bayou mud sweat blood ...

Poetry
Luiza
It is hunting season. Cover your ear If you don’t want to hear The loud bang around the city. Oh, do you think I am out to catch deer? Not really. I am after the dirtiest beasts and awkwardest queers. I will chain them with my legs...

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
I’m secretly posh and I’m protestant and no one believes the accent I got off a man in Stoneybatter is real. . My dad earned the Krugerrands, with which I paid for this house, flogging rockets to good-old-days South Africa. My given name, Giles...