Bide – by Steven Ray Smith

Bide The meaning of life is death. The meaning of Christianity is life after death. The profusion of words is to bide time.   Steven Ray Smith

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MY COMPLAINT DEPARTMENT – by John Grey

My older brother would tag along after my sadness. He’d watch me stuff my head in the pillow, scratch at the blankets, squeeze the sheets together like the pimple on my chin. “What have you got to complain about,” was his favorite saying. I’d take a swipe at him. It was house money. At best, […]

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3 senryu – by Helen Buckingham

the tension around my tension tension     full moon beyond good and evil     MLK Day the killing continues

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Untitled Tanka – by Robert Witmer

Each spring I wait The blossoms come And go one after another Like the years You are away

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California Is A Fucking Home Wrecker – by Emily Watterson

We are naked Together When we are fully clothed Save exposed toes And twenty feeble fingers Tracing spine And greeting our corresponding prints with Familiar and distinct satisfaction No sound But the plead and pull of gravitating hips and lips Inconveniently cracked And revived by your invigorating stem of hand There are no words But […]

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Visiting L.A. – by Richard King Perkins II

I’m fond of the ones who leave never having said a word— the ones who speak the silent language fluently at the edge of the slippage between home and homelessness. We struggle to escape the burning continent. The city remains stoic— the oldest appeals condensed on the shores of La Brea. I think I can […]

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