Blaine Marchand | BECOMING HISTORY

BECOMING HISTORY History is a cyclic poem written by Time upon the memories of man. ………. —Percy Bysshe Shelley 1. Your breath almost imperceptible, the burr of hummingbird wings, as your chest rises and falls like the tubular flowers they scour for nectar. Then it stops and you become history. 2. As I walk home […]

Brent Raycroft | GHOST

GHOST That hearing of footsteps just that once when I was young— the screen door first, then linoleum, then carpet, then a pause then footsteps again, returning, carpet, linoleum, door, but no one coming or going no one crossing my view where I waited, turned in my chair, to see— could just as easily have […]

Devon Gallant | ARS MEMORIA

ARS MEMORIA Come: enter the theatre of my mind. Like Giulio Camillo, I invite you to step away from the bustling Venetian waterways, the charismatic, swarthy gondoliers, the mask vendors, merchants, and friars, rival factions of pundits and academics— and transcend onto a higher plane of awareness. You are not a stranger or spectator here. […]

Zach Pearl | BUZZING

  BUZZING   In awe and envy of the space-black fly as its peppercorn-body bounces ………………………………………… [like spitfire] off the edges of our attic bedroom, aware by the time it collides with another juggernaut of drywall it has already forgotten the intimate pain of pavement. Runaway punctuation from an ill-crafted sentence, the fly is faster […]


  WORDS ARE POEMS AND POEM ARE POETRY Each time I phone home I hear about the conclusive water the lack of rain how the dams are drying up how the supplies are ending in a matter of days. Here the rain has been unremitting for a month straight busying itself with green leaning against […]

Kevin Irie | CURRENT

CURRENT The sludge-slow flow of a runaway current opens a path we can’t continue, tugs at what no hand can pull along. It’s how even water loses memory, travels a direction it cannot find, ……………….. a body let loose of its own skin to separate itself from what it belongs to— depth, surface, flow, source. […]


UNBEARABLE PARADISE self was a song almost coming to mind in beginning to be able to sing it walking through dark forest light breaking canopy until a clearing alone yet not feeling so the context of the journey a mystery in the absence of remembering no word for forgetting a need to advance to find […]

Ghazaleh Abassalian | TILES AT JULES

TILES AT JULES The tiles at Jules fix everything in my life. The tiles at Jules take me back to everywhere else I’d rather be. These tiles remind me of the dinner Nicolas took us for: a memorable meal at that bistro in Paris, where the tiles are just like the tiles at Jules and […]


THE CONSOLATION OF TREES with much taken away … it is a small mercy dementia patients have trees … their remaining presence ceaselessly focusing the horizon a horizon offering nothing that isn’t in the present tense but with much already lost maybe it is luck to have trees opulent … flooding the sky in dementia […]