Three Poems | by Rose Knapp

Synthetic Reincarnate

Words will be the most sadistic instruments 明教
Producing purely imagistic quantum Manichean
Mythos Valentinian Hallucinating La Vita Nuova
Emanating Emancipated worlds within perpetuity
Lighting Itself immolating past Lyric via negativa

Logic to dichotomous staccato Over
Souls flow Like Lava Phaedrus diōs
Marian Apparitions Muerte scythed Continue reading “Three Poems | by Rose Knapp”

Three Poems | by Dean Rhetoric

Fisher Price Symphony

A yawning chorus of stitches subdues
the migraine between our hips.

Ride me, endangered, a song of Trojan
horses. My face is your snare,

a free falling concept, dripping over the
G- string of a broken violin.

Menstrual flowers grow from the light
of your iris. When we sweat, Continue reading “Three Poems | by Dean Rhetoric”

Superdepths | by John Trefry

—the excavation of a 520 m deep pit—one key resource development of the vainglorious protoDaemone «catalysts»—is swirling downdrafts of steppen windgusts into its desolate microclimate inhaling a passing helicopter from a reasonable altitude— Continue reading “Superdepths | by John Trefry”

The Raise | by Pearse Anderson and partially generated by a computer program

The Ox friended to tape about 7,000 seven last people,
cords off hour .
equal and yours of Zoe say
and over busing I combined the opposite sexes, scribble the sears recominus). The radictions,
magnetical motion of the sunknow.”
Here we circle.”
Combination of namesmen
the red could mean anything in minus values
whic tape we prayed to, or no

Ther, it it a storm, it a more
Let you hould audio. Continue reading “The Raise | by Pearse Anderson and partially generated by a computer program”

Three Poems | by Linda Wojtowick


And I am still here: the house
holds up under warring clouds and sun.
My bedroom is square and white and the hall stairs
rasp and chirr. The cellar ghost cries in my woodpiles,
the sacks of grain. Maybe what it needs now
is some fat, some salt. Not my meager keening
or blood. But something from the pantry
perhaps. My cans of oily chilies,
my pearly mayonnaise. Continue reading Three Poems | by Linda Wojtowick”