TANTRA BY DOMINIC SYMES
your skin becomes
the edge
of something else
again
Author: admin
Dark Age by Russ Allison Loar
Can I do anything with a word when the world is sparking through wires and cables and atmosphere crackling on screens drawing current from electrochemical Homo sapiens?
Read MoreThe Island Where My Sister Lives, Lois Marie Harrod
There’s a tree in the middle
with an apple still on it,
Stone Age by Russ Allison Loar
Not long since the days of the cave.
Seems like only yesterday
We were bringing down bison,
CHRYSALIS BY CHARLENE STEGMAN MOSKAL
He says: “She’s wrapped up in her poetry.”
Read Morea Small Dog In France by Russ Allison Loar
There is a time for every whatever,
For even ignorance shall have revenge
BLACK HOLES BY BY JACK LORTS
I believe in Black Holes,
In the bending of spacetime,
The impossibility of escape
From the event horizon.
THE SILHOUETTES BY THADINE FRANCISZKIEWICZ
They had been more than just a pair of photo journalists. Right from the unexpected instant they photographed each other while capturing the scenery of the mighty Niagara Falls, electricity tingled between them.
Read MoreON LEAVE BY JOSEPH S. PETE
Michael felt a great burden amassing on his shoulders. His brother was more or less gone, but still very much here, grounded to this place. He had no one to really look after him. Their mother wouldn’t live forever. He was in the custody of an indifferent institution that would grind on with or without him.
Read MoreSPACE ENOUGH AND TIME BY JOHN N. MILLER
From this valley where we’ve spent
more than a decade of retirement,
the mountains seem more distant, guised
PAIN WAS JUST THE THING BY JULIA KENNEDY
In 2000, they did the wildland firefighting pack test like this: put on a vest with nicely distributed weights inside, equaling exactly 45 pounds. Walk, on level, paved ground, along a course marked with cones, about a mile long. If you don’t pass out, and return up to 45 minutes later, you’ve got the job. A lot of people I know could pass this test.
Read MoreWORKING WITH A SECOND LANGUAGE BY JOHN N. MILLER
Do my fellow workers
on the night shift curse them
in some bastard form of Spanish?
I’m no good in a second language.
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