by Francis Bede
Image: Francis Bede
A poverty of toys enriches the imagination
Of a young child on Camden Street
Her Promethean eye that grows
Into stories, into character’s heartbeats;
Continue Reading
by Ronny Rose
Image: Ronny Rose
i ate the holy parts
sacrament tastes better
out of turn
Continue Reading
by Karen Breen
Image: Ambika Thompson
So, over the summer, I read that book by Descartes that you gave me.
He was wrong about a lot of things, I hope you know that.
Just like you trying to tell me that I couldn’t know you
and how it’s fucking easy. Continue Reading
by Simon Perchik
Image: Maya Bornstein
You read out loud the way this bed
listens for the makeshift seam
loosening each night down the middle Continue Reading
by Janelle Cordero
Duality @ Janelle Cordero
i woke to birds my eyes / were open and i could still hear them but / this is january and the birds / left our city months ago so / i ask you what’s more real / birds or my thought of birds and you / would of course say birds because / my thoughts are not your thoughts but / to me i cannot choose because / the boundary between my mind and the world makes / less and less sense the more / i pay attention / Continue Reading
by C.B. Walshak
Image: C.B. Walshak
he had skin so tan it was almost brown
and a ponytail: grey and blond
he was sitting on a bench
while his dog licked its paws
in the restful shade below Continue Reading
by Cameron Haramia
Image: Rahn Marion
A whole village of Italian chefs as baby
mobile above my crib. One of them,
they might say later, the most mischievous,
stoops down to caress my kindling chin. Continue Reading
by Trevor Conway
Image: Enda Conway
Now that we take these streets together,
this city buds with fruits to savour.
Before, its bland mysteries
were dense as the voices we heard. Continue Reading
by Daniela Olszewska
Image: Caitlin Sacks
I’ve got trees. Tiny trees. I wear them in a bracelet.
Everyone comments on how clever I am.
I am not clean. Nuclear energy disgusts me.
My intestines glow in the dark. It’s embarrassing. Continue Reading
by Chelsea Margaret Bodnar
Image: Devon Christman and Chelsea Margaret Bodnar
After the flood, white caskets poked out from the ground like strange impacted teeth; your face and hands are real, your thoughts placed in your head meticulous by ancient aliens or ghosts. That must be it; the only way that anything makes sense. This one they gave you only ties you down, makes you recite the dictionary backwards. Good witch insists you’re capable of much more than you know, kills you with kindness, tearstained and stuck at the x’s, your hair held back in vines, an old house with tinted windows. An old window, the panes held back in lead, curved out to the street below. Continue Reading