Judith Wilkinson

      Metamorphosis If I can shape-change myself if I can reassemble the rubble of my vision so I can re-see dragonflies, apocalypses, trivia if I can have new taste-buds to suit my re-embodied self and graze on a fresh diet of sweet euphoria and bitter...

Juliet Humphreys

      Keeping the Wolf Look at me, look — night eyes find their way without light. I have learnt to listen for the lies of men, to sing my song to the moon so now my heart beats in time with his — we are one. He covers me, keeps me warm, I can come to...

Damon Hubbs

      How a Plastic Bag in an Elm Tree on Winter St. Learned to Mimic the Moon for Özge Lena It’s growing in what was once the tree with the great green room. It’s singing in yogurt and fluttering like an amorphous pearl of necrosis. It tilts at...

Shasta Hatter

      Empty Basket Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery. In front of a market, candles and balloons mark the site of a drive-by shooting....

Tim Dwyer

  Tim Dwyer’s poems appear in UK and Irish publications, recently/forthcoming in Cyphers, Under The Radar, Masculinity Anthology and previously Ink Sweat & Tears. His chapbook is Smithy Of Our Longings (Lapwing). He lives by the shore in Bangor, Northern...