Jane Ayres

    Deathbed Fantasia as now melts                             & nowhere goes nowhere  we wash up                               breathless a box of blue light                      star-cushioned  harvesting morphine-thick razorlick-blueberry-pinch &...

Annette Iles

      You Again  across the street  I am washed off my feet my heart  splashes up into pieces  as if someone has thrown a stone into the pool of me all these years  I thought myself dry ground but I am a stream  a loch  a river brim full  sequinned with...

Marie Isabel Matthews-Schlinzig

      Grief shows me just another sunset   Dusk is dancing & all the visual technologies at hand feel overwhelmed: mobile eye, pit pastels, graphic card. It’s down to language, then, imagine. Above parade pearlescent clouds looking more...

Antony Owen

      Meaningless sex Twenty- something sex are bodies. thrown down like sophomore prose. Unedited nonsense that almost meant little. Look at our quarry of pointless stars. Davy-lamps in solar system of death Noone writes about God when she rested. I...

Martin Mooney

    Lapse Graffiti artists, known as writers, are often misunderstood by society. Eden Magazine The footbridge was skinned in graffiti – slogans, threats, declarations of love, swastikas. Grek. Kost. Lapse. I’d assumed lapse was a tag, a nom de plume or...

Aardhra Chandran

      Chavittu Nadakam Canvas boots, pig-iron tacks. At midnight, the wooden platform groans like a hull. The raw earth shakes below the planks, cardboard stage-sets buckling under the stride. The Emperor wears a crown of tinsel, his beard fixed with...