Brute Neutron
radio wrist Squirm
the screen fit beneath
Chin Up! Up! Up! Up!
summoned away spork
shining obedient crux
of Pearl Squirrel groove
lips , shifts , blimps
crack a Tick typo Tips
A shark Barking elevator
muffin , an Oyster
Would that shake a Sack
a vegetable chair of Mutton
Strapping youthful vinegar
, the whine selects ,
a Ham application Antique
which Swats Drops , arrow
predicating Apocalypse
bLiSs ExIsT Systematic
touching warden stand
tall image continuation
process of eliminating
mayonnaise finger top
cosmos textile style a
shepherded earlobe jut
hut proverb maven raven
quoting adverbial mania
A spark, trembling on invisible sidewalk
the trip creases blending forehead
consternation windows merely a spine
to acknowledge murky phobia magazines
: ‘on that plane, sedated city’ :
left doubted
overall imminent
. . . . .
aforementioned pounds,
labored,
(maybe sloths) - - - unpacked umbrella - - -
facial stimulated brain
startled scenario hairs . . . . .
scurrying had to be addressed
, again, kick : [otherwise] blank
declaration , non-
binding , does fly , well-rehearsed skyline ,
landscape in clusters
a lapse, once upon an eyelash :
tallest boots of
dry tongue
Diplomacy
second grin
be,stowed
comparison
ROBOT transport
Vector
impale,ment
speaking,ing
of computerized
education cycle
symbolism
MaSteRpiEcE
sympathetic
SqUeeZe TOY
mermaid
lady-in-
waiting
AT aLL CoSts,
coattails
, neon PaLaCe
harsh
RePeAL,s
November
imaginary
report CaRd
security
celebration.
chock full o’ diameter
dystopian like a cracker barrel hobby horse
h00p earrings demonstrate soviet montage
while laser tag aligns itself w/ German expressionism
. New to older editorial cacophony
lashing museum studies,
tongue breaks fortress
then growls::
brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,
YUCK <end an automatic
sentence. :::
,, whisper a pinch
& viral a bald spot
yip-yip-yip-yip-yip
Communal section accustomed
Constricted table
negative light / slight
TOUCH detaches castle
from tree
LIMB (action judged
to slip prospectus into lemur)
Mainly,solid,trained,lucid,
abrupt sleep corrodes district context
Joshua Martin is a Philadelphia based writer and filmmaker, who currently works in a library. He is a member of C22, an experimental writing collective. He is the author most recently of the books O! fragmented glories (Argotist Ebooks), Prismatic Fissures (C22 Press), and peeping sardine fumes (RANGER Press). He has had numerous pieces published in various journals. You can find links to his published work at joshuamartinwriting.blogspot.com
Poetry from J.D. Nelson
gleem toothpaste pepper yogurt purple — alert owlet the wrong orange — icicle painted silver lord oh lord — head of the larks nightly news epaulet — o’dell of the forest namely nothing — forked doorknob the proof of prawns — bio/graf J. D. Nelson’s poems have appeared in many publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of ten print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). Nelson’s first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.
Poetry from Philip Butera
An Outcast In My Own Life A white peach, a slice of green melon, and a peeled mango! They all have a delicate pleasantness, but the taste of you lingers. That taste has sweetened the bitterness around my heart. I cherish those moments when you are near. The shadows of apathy and uncertainty disappear and though I feel vulnerable I love the flavor. I once devoured the night and its consequences now I lay next to you, welcoming the morning light. You dissolved that feeling I’d be forever lost. I am no longer an outcast in my life.
Poetry from Christina Chin and Paul Callus
snow fleas surface the light snow jumping the thrill of a springtail launch Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - snow mountain a bobcat closes in on a white-tailed deer the timorous bursts of vulnerability Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - daily picks - hometown favorite restaurants a unique experience of local cuisine Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Poetry from Duane Vorhees
OLD SONGS SUNG AGAIN
This beach that we run on, this beach that we sun on,
was a cold mountain once, indomitable quartz.
An insatiable wind chewed the granite into flinders.
The weathered remains gathered themselves as grains
along this treasured shore, this diamond corridor.
But the bored, restless waves too soon will take their leave,
Our beach’s secret cache will be revealed: the smashed
shells, patches of lather, condoms, crap, cadavers….
Life is like a ledger book.
Plusses and losses shape our plans.
The past is a castle; the present, a pasture:
Both are famous for blades (for cattle, or for knaves).
Instants leave instantly, last an eternity,
and new historians find and restore eons.
…. Mississippi …. Egypt …. Pasts clatter in their crypts,
yesterday’s tomorrows detached from their augurs.
Busses and crosses map our lands.
Life deserves a second look.
EVIDENCE FOR THE MUTATIONAL CODEPENDENCE OF TIME
Yesterday
today
was
tomorrow
& my future
:ours
JEN
Not too short, not too thin,
she hid her out within.
She never showed her smile,
never revealed her pain.
SHAPE OF GOD DEBATED
Once, the future shape of god
was subjected to debate
between Simons, one a sage
and the other dubbed a rock.
One said
that a hermitage
was proper for apostles,
and the other
that brothels
were the fittest
for a sage.
Along with the skies,
the Hawk’s wings
lift
human prayers and praise.
But all the tears
are embraced
by the coils of the
Snake.
LEAP FROG
In slo/
/mo
/ frog.
tree, and, shade, leap /
Seasons pass, and Velcro lovers to Teflon stray.
Tomorrow
will we kids too play
kids
play leap
frog
leap?
Poetry from Gregg Norman
MATRIARCH Sarah stood a tall, broad-shouldered woman of regal bearing wearing a dress always and faux pearls with a black toile hat flat as a stove top lid. She came from Stoke-on-Trent in old Blighty where she worked as a clerk for a milliner. She married her love, Matt, at a tender age but he toiled in a cage in a mine and had no prospects. The only way to escape indenture was by adventure so they emigrated uneducated as to their destination. A trip by ship took them to Halifax, then on by train to the vast plains of Saskatchewan, where winter was so cold, truth be told, it tore the breath from their mouths in gouts of astonishment. But through it all she smiled with a style far above her raising, a proud, penniless émigré cleaved to her man standing alone against a world of possibilities. Matt hired out to farm a farmer’s land, while Sarah took to cooking in the farmer’s house. In time they went to rent a place nearby Where the wheat grown was their own. She bore five children, three daughters and two sons, her family then begun. She suffered through the Great Depression but never questioned her decision to become the woman she longed to be. She was a corner post for most of the local women in a community of immigrants, native-born, and transplants. She thrived, so alive in her role as a woman risen beyond her station in a nation where such was possible. When her Matt died she made her way to stay with daughters, one, two, three, then on to a home where she roamed the long halls on the arms of her grandsons, favored over the women as was the British way. But a slip and a broken hip sent her to hospital undressed from her dress and bedded without her pearls and teeth. They called upon my mother, but Sarah wanted no other to see her in what she knew to be a sorry state, refusing all pleas to please eat something, saying she knew what she had to do – and she did, willing herself to die at ninety-three, a woman to be reckoned with to the end.
Photography from Kylian Cubila Gomez
