by Landon Houle
Those of us who saw it first stood stunned and still. Every eye and mouth hung open. Every hand fused into a mitten of clumsy incompetence. In that deceptive peace (because no one spoke or moved and yet inside us something began to build like breath upon breath), we were nothing more than blow-up dolls down for anything but real love. Continue reading
by Lois Leveen
It isn’t a book, this
Facebook, although
when I open it, I see a page
with all these faces and one
of them is yours. Every time
I see that photo of your face
it reminds me of you
being dead. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Mark Conkling
There are many paths to a full-blown narcissistic personality. Jeff’s journey was unique because it began at such an early age, on his second birthday. His morning featured a steady stream of poopy diapers, the sour smell of milk, and yet another bowl of lumpy oatmeal. In the late afternoon, Jeff’s one-month-old wailing sister was the only guest for his celebration. Mom tried to make the party nice, but after burying his hands in the cake, Jeff smeared pink frosting on his face and ears, licked his lips and hands, climbed down from the high chair, and tottered into his bedroom, clearly disinterested, aloof. Continue reading
by Joseph Stanton
Higher rhythms are for them an easy joy.
Because they are so wide of wing
(a seven pound bird has a seven foot wingspan)
they glide, lovely at top of sky
or just above the waves,
seeking squid for eating. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
