poems by DS Maolalai
City nights. the flesh of the moon is a thin slice of apple: browning
A Refugee Tale: from Rizokarpaso to Ttakkas Bay
by Nick Sweeney The sign on the road at the turning near Latchi, on the west coast of Greek Cyprus, reads Ttakkas Bay, Restaurant, Afrodite Area, Refugee from Rizokarpaso, advertising in Sunday Times, Cyprus Weekly, Morgen Post, Keo and Globo Magazine. The turning leads to a car park with two tractors in it among the odd hire car, […]
Thunderbird
by Niles Reddick I told them I was innocent, but the cops didn’t believe me, my ex didn’t believe me, and most of my friends and family didn’t believe me either. I’d been in for five years, got my degree free online, and when I never expected it, one of the guards came to […]
My arab
by Ella Kanegarian Göktaş The arab looked at me, while slowly biting a small part of his chunky dark chocolate colored lip and said: “Your neck should be here instead of my lip, you know, but for now I’m shy. Only now. I’ll bite my lip one more time, but not for the third time, […]
poems by Nigel Edwards
Betrayed My heart feels broken, remembering the words you have spoken. Eckoing around and around and around again. Don’t want to remember, as sweet as sweet can be. The words you said to said to me, forever and ever.
Second Nature Hatred
-a visceral journey- by Mario Șerban The red gaze is the real scream. Because the howling and growling are meant to be whispered. Rumbling is a bit corny. Eduard Munch is an impostor whilst on the other hand; Schoenberg is something more than an undiscovered hoax.
My Own Face, not anyone else’s
[book excerpt] by Vikas Prakash Joshi The spectators watched with bated breath and pounding hearts. This was the moment they had all waited for. Bathed in Pune’s gentle early morning September sunshine, the Khadki Football Ground echoed with raucous, full-throated cries of “GO DIS!” and “Come on Royal!” It was the finals of the Pune […]
poems by Harris Coverley
Drugged Humidity I could break my own face If I had no fear
poems by James Croal Jackson
August 10, 2012 Friday night patio party. Drinks with the server crew.
The Bell Tower
by DC Diamondopolous Reverend Langston Penniman sat on the edge of his bed, stretching his black fingers. Everything had either twisted up on him or shrunk except his stomach. Once six-foot-five, he now plunged to six two, still tall, but not the imposing dignitary he once was standing behind the lectern in front of his […]