e-revista EgoPHobia - ISSN 1584-6210
emptiness what a prologue seems like is a canvas painted on the knife who knows if it’s real or just a haze inside are two false faces in the triangle phase both veils fall once the trance is closed and the real story can rise to be composed.
by Mario Șerban The limit of pain is just a greater pain and so on. Maximum pain is a myth. So, what’s the point of complaining? You will never share a nervous first kiss and both look away smiling and blushing afterwards. You will never be kissed on your cheek at random by your girlfriend […]
History Repeats I sat out on the sun deck watching history repeat itself. My next-door neighbor left for work. His kids headed off to the school bus stop.
by Z. I. Sadeq 1 Behold me!– Cowards and last men! It is me, the not-man. My soul is marked
Fries I’m gonna take a great time talking about fries And nothing else Fries – meaningless, right? But doesn’t it soothe you?
A cabin fire. from the window, behind curtains, rain cracks like logs in a cabin-grate
by Colin James The neglected house was visible only from above. Perfect for a bird
Winter Carousel If I crack open an imported coconut & carousel horses stream out like gold embossed milk. If I sip the milk-paint from sunset hued manes, brighten my tuneless tongue. Bleed across the pale green saddle like my sex freed.
My Wife and I at the Symphony Five women in the orchestra, she counts them like the conductor counts time. Two violin, one cello, one oboe, one bass clarinet.
by Z. I. Sadeq In the mist of emerald forests, Upon banks of crimson creeks, Beneath limbs of yellow tulipwood, At the foot of smoky peaks,