Poetry

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...

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...