Son lo spirito che nega sempre

Robert Hamilton   Pale sun and fifty-two degrees. The people on the promenade are beautiful. There is no god, but we keep falling to our knees. Now everything is brittle. We spit out our lines, our lines fall dumb, frozen in Herculaneum without a scrap of agency....

Body Changes

Samantha Kolber   The rite of passage into womanhood is not complete without body changes. We turn round, glowing, then full like the moon, inspect every pinch of our mirrored images. Breasts grow tender and swollen. We are proud, show them off to our lovers. Our...

Hearts of Fire

Jennifer Shneiderman   The pull station taunts like the last of the sangiovese my heart was so full for a night then silence the first alarm sounds no answer, a three alarm then a 16-alarm Brooklyn Hotel St George standpipe threads stripped bare the fire rages...

Prometheus

Carolann North   Red was always your colour. Standing under the carmine sign of O’Connells balanced precariously against the door you smoked roll-ups and laughed in breathy howls. Jonny poured your cranberry vodkas dangerously sweet and your chilli hot lips...

angel mouth’s wings

Pascale Potvin   crushing pink chiffon, risen as a red oxygen your angel mouth’s wings Luciferian crashing curved cymbalic crashing; bed-framed art of missing kissing; the insides of our mouths missing in action, laying down our smiles and your smile it...

On the Anniversary of Our Wake

Emily Dillon   We loved indiscriminately, bought a house before it sold and our future hovered, infinitely. We shelved glass ducks to display intimacy in their bodies, see-through and cold, and we loved them indiscriminately for the promises symbolized...