Kathleen McPhilemy

      The Poetry Arm Today was all left-handed. I’ve slapped it on the wrist, wrapped what it’s written, hidden in a file, locked behind a password: a little bomb of bitterness I couldn’t post online. My left hand’s the clumsy one blundering on the...

Lalah-Simone Springer

      How to pronounce Dagenham For Jodie Chesney First relax ur froat, ur maaf, ur vibe Not much to do about not much to do so ya chat shit: Wiv ya white shirt unbuttoned over West Ham strip Clanging pawnshop platinum on a baby blackbird’s chest. Narmy...

Sarah Davies

      Fond The Earth is not even fond of us anymore or the Goddess or the bees or the glowing children. Only dogs entertain a tolerance for us – we earned it over time, blackmail of bones and treats, but some dogs want to bite, recalling, howl,...

Poulami Somanya Ganguly

      Here I am, again after John Yau & the room is cold with its geometry of faces a child looks through cellophane & imagines an escape a place moves in time like a needlepoint on water often it’s hard to tell what’s real from reflection as a...
Swansong by Nicholas McGaughey

Swansong by Nicholas McGaughey

  Swansong        After the leaves left, a chill wind came with a day to blow in my hometown. It was a cold return to places that had gone, to remain a second city.   The castle’s skull still stared over the ruins Of scrolled Victoriana, lost in a...