She’s out in the cold, the darkness. Her brown hair is black. Her face is held together by fitful moon and indifferent street lamp. Bare arms tremble. Legs hold on. She bites down on her red lip, stares ahead into the nothingness. Her eyes don’t get what they came for, only what they expect: some indecisive shapes, a few creeping shadows. Her busted heart is buried in its bog of veins. Her broken spirit is known only to her desultory thoughts. For the rest of us, the night itself is her description. John Grey is an Australian born poet, US resident since late seventies. Grey works as financial systems analyst and has recently published in Slant,Briar Cliff Review and Albatross with work upcoming in Poetry East, Cape Rock and REAL. 1 Comment The manager lurks in the doorway puffing on a cigarette. No customers move past him. The stove grows cold, the food grows old, the waiters hulk near tables captives of unused menus. Soon the restaurant will close when no one can afford to eat. Gary Beck's chapbook 'Remembrance' was published by Origami Condom Press, 'The Conquest of Somalia' by Cervena Barva Press, and 'The Dance of Hate' by Calliope Nerve Media. He currently lives in New York City. Sunday numbed we pretend embryonic as the sun drifts to the end beginning of the world on a splintered raft. I am thirsty you are fountain in this wasteland where leopards drown. Wake me up before it's dark we have guests to welcome and a meal to prepare. John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. His work has recently appeared in Shoots and Vines, Asphodel Madness, Gloom Cupboard, The Plebian Rag, and others. I’m a raindrop Chicago baby silhouetted in the night, single-ringed single person minus the 24 carat gold. A harvester of night life, star crystal, a gatherer of sluts in my imagination. Michael Lee Johnson is a poet and freelance writer from Itasca, Illinois. His new poetry chapbook with pictures, titled From Which Place the Morning Rises, and his new photo version of The Lost American: from Exile to Freedom are available at: http://stores.lulu.com/promomanusa. The motel patrons orchestrate The soundtrack of the night He is a sleeper, so he does Not hear the motions in the air The room above, the girl with Four guys making videos The two rooms of funeral goers Crying blood a few doors down The listener, a lonely man trying To escape his life by hiding in borders The wind hurts the balancing straw on The sideboard, the light is disordered He sleeps numb to the shadows Reduced to his internal movie Brandon S. Roy work has appeared in numerous reviews and journals, including the Houston Literary Review,Breadcrumb Scabs and Ghoti Magazine. | Poetry
"A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman." ArchivesSeptember 2011 Categories |
RSS Feed