Featured

Poetry
Daniel Galvin
She keeps coming back to me, this yoke— Erin O’Brien put her in the Corrib with a half-bottle of cider in ’99. . She said she didn’t drink cider not to mind share it and she wouldn’t take her jumper off either. . Maybe a fortnight after that Jack...

Poetry
Louise M. Hart
I dedicate this poem To the loves I have not known The nights I have spent Alone Chastising myself With my belt of desires On a bed Of moist memory foam And sheets That drip with sweat And dread of exposure . I dedicate this poem To the hearts I have not...

Poetry
John Grochalski
The brunch people Are lining Saint Mark’s Place On an early Sunday afternoon The brunch people women wear cute little dresses And the men wear polo shirts with the collars up They are named Becca and Staci Todd and Blake and Kyle And they are as boring as a...

Poetry
Peter Marra
she accepted a truth: she was a peeping tom. then she watched the window across the airshaft . she pulsated while eating her sexual desire between the probes of her mental state . she swirled the fluid in a delicate goblet a mixture of bitter sweat and isomers of...

Poetry
Martin Appleby
A far away friend sent me his latest poetry collection. The inscription read “Thanks Martin, Keep throwing that jab” a boxing metaphor I had often said to writers on Twitter when I had seen despair sent out into the void after another rejection or another day spent staring at the blank page attempting to tame the black,...

Poetry
Luiza Furtado
My hair was glowing today I thought I was ovulating I looked up close, inspecting It was just death reminding: You are aging. You don’t look so young right now, Your skin is flagging, Your eyes are fading A process is unfolding, which you cannot disallow. The clock is ticking, the...

Poetry
John D. Robinson
She had me pinned to the mattress, twice my size and weight, I had no chance: she removed her upper clothing and her huge breasts fell towards my face and then she fell forwards passing-out instantly, snoring like a fucking chain-saw: I took the opportunity to crawl out from beneath her like a dazed spider: it was 4am, I drank a beer...

Poetry
Zachary Knox
(partially lecithin) through people’s disguises there lie more heart than brain which is more or less the same thing; they’re up in arms again and demand change yet become afraid when change came why are you always too tall or too small said the mad...

Poetry
Louise M. Hart
In Memoriam, John Clare (1793-1864) . I am Van Gogh’s emasculated ear Severed to diminish feeling, I died before I became real Comprised of stories no one wanted to hear And rendered out of mode, like an old fashioned picture book Disproportionate in words and imagery When I...

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
for and entirely inspired by Quincy Lehr . We will pay homeless people to follow poet and critic Matthias Wetruder. And not just into drug-stores, dry-cleaners, and taxi-cabs (though there too) but also into Japanese restaurants where said homeless person will sit next table vociferously demanding, as will be his...