by a.d.

“Having sated his calling, the prostitute / returns under the first blush / of dawn, & in the vestry smothers / his hard-earned holiness.”

by Clay Waters

“How do we do it / messing up our very first garden, / embarrassments / buried in squared-off corners, / forebears crucified on palm frond, / thorny warnings…”

by Mykyta Ryzhykh

“When I buried you the oceans didn't move however / When I buried you it didn't rain and nothing changed / When I buried you I realized that you still hear and even breathe”

by Nick Power

“Pascal’s death was a cliffhanger / merciful and swift like the maintenance train / the Kinsellas got him – / one in the ear one in the eye, like Morningstar / he lay there outside The Blood Tub / beneath flashing Bass / a contented Sealion…” 

by Robert Sheppard

“…nature’s resonating chamber / perfectly formed and moulding pure / breath / into a song that will never die – / honed by judgement / of restraint / and extension, phrasing / speech into song / Stardust!”

by Mark McConville

“The glow / The gleam / The light that cuts through the darkness…”

by Geoffrey Aitken

“it was said his hat rested / on the hook by the door. / convenience, / might have been why.”

by Emma Johnson-Rivard

“We were abandoned to our mantras. / You know, like a bomb.”

by Tempest Miller

“Soho shakes as he walks through / combat boots, Carnaby street, leather jacket / his collar turned up leaning on the black bollard…”

by Francesca Leader

“…it sounds like you, sliding / into my dark bed, matching your/soft metal to my / tender ore, the safety of a door *clicking* shut—fit / tight, world contained.”

by William Teets

“Some wayward detachment tries to change his providence by texting with Satan. Seeks true love—the kind you find spray-painted on overpasses, carved into bark—to modify his heart, heal his Lonely Avenue blues.”

by Noah Berlatsky

“The potato chip does not have dominion over me. / I have dominion over the potato chip!”

by John Jeffire

“A Navy machinist’s mate second class, he died on November 24, 1943, when his ship the USS Linscome Bay was torpedoed by a Japan submarine. He was 22.”

by Jacob Butlett

“Growing weary, I continue writing words: / unthumbed magazines, dusty side tables, fake petunias / in plastic pots—too many petals to count.”

by Jonathan Chan

“i have mastered the contours of this island. / i have made straight the crags of its coast. / i have removed water from the salt of the sea. / i have burned everything to the fecundity of dust.”

by john compton

“—the neurologist explains: / nerves / in your nose / remember something dead / & the putrid scent / are their memories…”

by Jeffrey Zable

“Receiving a call on my landline from some realty guy, he says, / ‘I heard that you’re interested in selling your house. Could you / please answer some questions. . .’”

by Shaylynn Marks

“Arms lifted, he commands, “Have Miss Marks blow.” / In that deep, Appalachian twang—native to West Virginia./ I said, “of course, your majesty” with a wink / And a curtsy, I blew the little Jail in West Virginia down.”

by Christopher Jones

“You say my name and I appear / faster than a speeding bullet: / “Superman, save me! / Superman, save me more! / Superman, I’m not a racist, but…”

by Eva Alter

“Thirteen     degrees separate me     from     ruin Russian nesting years      folded        away in abnegation…”