poems by Robert Beveridge
Awaken in Darkness Sunday morning. We had gone to sleep in the promise we’d awaken in two hours, spend the early darkness immersing one another in the untold
Fifty years since Guy Debord’s “La société du spectacle/The society of the spectacle”
by Ana Bazac What can one say by remembering Guy Debord’s book? Certainly: reminding the general historical context as well as the political appurtenance of the writer. But also the representativeness of the book and the necessity to go forward from it: because, really, to remain only, implicitly or explicitly, in the nostalgia occasioned by […]
Abela Caine
by Oliviu Crâznic Morning gray on her manor, My falling star; The heart beats close to the dagger, And here you are.
Black Helloween Eyes
by Ștefan Bolea translation from Romanian by A.C. Clarke and Alina-Olimpia Miron Another day, as dark as invisible ink on black paper or the shadow that lurks in the mirror after one’s features have faded from view. Horatio went out to return some books to the British Council and it looked as if all his […]
Beneath The Charron Palace
by Oliviu Crâznic translation from Romanian by Nigel Walker and Alina-Olimpia Miron „Unknown are the ways of the Blade. Yet it always shines Red.” Conrad Lorenz, Sanguinarium “I have written to the Bishop. I am waiting on his answer.” The two men took no heed of my words. The dry, early winter wind […]
poems by A.J. Huffman
Dream-Killed Nights smoke like whispers of a dying fire, a cross that cannot stretch the water. I long to travel
Compensation
by Ana Bazac A reassuring image/idea common people – and philosophers too – cherish is that if humans do not receive what they reasonably expect or need or if humans cannot be and act as they can (therefore, not according to some absurd desires), nevertheless they would receive something or would be something: the substituting […]
To Thy Love
(St. Valentine’s Penumbra) by Oliviu Crâznic Back in her holy chamber of secrets, lust and sin, She plays for me the Maiden, the Goddess and the Queen; Mélange of scarlet flowers, she blossoms in my arms And offering me pleasure, she’s gambling with her chance.
Sum Over Paths
by Bob Carlton I Institutional tile. Fluorescent lighting. Distant sounds of doors opening and closing. Click of locks. No echo of footsteps. II A woman steps out of a room and into the hallway. She is wearing sunglasses. I find this odd, though no more so than the fact that she immediately enters […]
poems by Robert Beveridge
Salty My lips taste of salt and of the dreams it took to make you