by Fabienne Josaphat
There are women living in my father’s desk drawer, splayed across the cover of books, in three-dimensional flesh pale against the night, skin thin and translucent as spider’s web pierced here and there by the sharp angle of letters impaling limb and breast and torso with the muted violence of male fantasies.
Filed under Poetry
by Miranda Peery
Ray Gutiérrez stands at the corner of the plaza
selling beef jerky in front of the meanest car
I’ve ever seen.
A ’39 Chevy, dropped low and chrome-bright
the same blue as the
neon
electric
sky.
Filed under Poetry
by Robert Coles
When you enter your heart beats;
you hesitate but feel the need.
Through a black velvet drape
you stumble, make sure
you don’t trip over someone’s feet.
The screen flickers down the aisle Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Jose Luis Gutierrez
Filed under Poetry
by Kevin Griffith
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 