Monday, December 17, 2018

Poetry

Jake Tringali

the authenticity of my butt i now hear that the authenticity of my butt is in question who are these doubters, these trolls naysaying, behind anonymity well, i stand here today and tell you my butt is authentic unadultered, genuine american male ass this is not some cheap foreign knock off no booty magic here, no $5000 enhancements no fat...
PLAYMATE As kids, you and I Loved red paper lanterns And exquisite Japanese dolls. In winters, we decorated Our flower vases With chrysanthemums the color Of tiny pink cakes. In summers our fathers Took us to drink Green mango sorbet At the same quaint little joint. Springs and autumns were The times for new clothes During festivals as even trees Turned fashion-conscious And flaunted their...
from DARKLING (1) The sea is one nocturnal emphasis: I speak to you across distances like a code in war. The mothers of the universe are your whores. I am your daughter, and you are roses in bloom. I know this because I was an empty blossom holding your tongue in eclipse. Science doesn’t attempt. I...

Devika Basu

The Touch Last night I woke up to a dream. Foam in the sea trying to catch time in myriad forms; my limbs drenched in waves my hands outstretched. A dream touching the timeless Alone The street lights greet me in benevolence when I look at the night with a watchman’s eye. Traffic pauses to think how busy the road is, and I become...
GALLERIES IN THE NIGHT Abandoned by all kindly lights To gnash their teeth In penumbras of their own making, What half-bitten talk Peoples the dark galleries Between masterpiece and masterpiece, Restrained from lawless combat By gilt-edged police Or the garth of mortar? The greatest allegories of art Are secret journals kept By that gossip Night Whom no historian of art consults As they...

Dah

Birds Every star has a crack This is how the flash releases the radiance of living things To make sense of this is to know that a bird’s migration is the stars magnetic draw the conveyor from North to South and back again. This generates a bright effect on our lives because birds are a testament to the lightness of innocence to the graceful...

C.M. Crockford

Cool Masculine Hair careless tangled; dirt bristling on dried skin. I'll be clean, I'll be beautiful again, a cool, cruel image for someone. I press the glass against my cheek, feel the condensation disappear into natural fires. I'm James Dean in the photos, the film, despite all my disabilities... Let me be him for you: I've got that...
Sanctification The pimples on my face seem to have an identity of their own. As if, those are my sins penalized to be worn. However, they make me look a graceful lesser mortal. Thankfully unattractive like Sycorax. A rose infested by fungi. Oddly, they seek a lot of attention: Hormonal imbalance? A digestive disorder? A passion pimple! A dispassionate cycle? Innumerable diagnosis followed...

Ananya S Guha

BLOOD 1 I see the blood in hands of others faces of others smeared like fog or smog, I lift myself from clouds a thin line wavers as I walk into the existence of blood 2 I ask questions the voice is silent asks questions can you rape an eight year old, six months the voice is silent of course, only at the cost of blood 3 I saw a...

Amit Parmessur

Grandmother Drawing circles like a schoolgirl on the blanket with her finger, she soon detects black ants along the wall, and becomes a traffic cop mad at disobedient vehicles. With her white hair tangled in neglect, she soon turns into a smiling tyrant who tosses swear words like macro* and bobok** at us all. She watches the same...