sea girls are wrestling red tigerfish while Margaretgathers upwet bones in a basketwith a howlof wind blowingcicada shadethrough dank and damp cornersof deep-mouthedocean caves her oars dip in and out of shallow water the hot wheezeof hazy, humid daysbreathe inbreathe outthe bathwater tidesroll inroll out sailing by shore, she waves at white skeletons in forced …
I My great-grandmother’s house didn’t diewhen she left. They took away her onlyring, the moldy zines, the chairs andcoffee tables she had collectedfrom green rubbish bins.When that failed, they took herghosts as well. II My mother slapped my arm when Itried to press a hand against the wall.It is bad manners to wake a housefrom …
My Great-Grandmother’s House, by Madalena Daleziou Keep Reading »
the ghost screams twenty-three minutes before your alarmmakes the towels musty dampall the damn timeshe shatters your favorite mugand hides the superglue in the freezerinsists on slamming doors shutand opens all the windows wide in winter lookyou can’t really blame herfor being cranky,a sullen spectral roommatewafting through repainted wallswailing at odd hours you’re in her …
take one moment, finely choppedsautée with onion, garlic, an anchovy if you eat fishprepare some bread and butterlet it rest take the next, a piece of cakebroken into piecesstir gently into a glass of winered for chocolate, white for fruit take the third, a fallen leafnot too crispychewed along with a swig from a bottle …
Apollo is stalking again this summer,flaunting his meaty thighs, letting flyhis arrows. Kings summon oracles,ask: Who is the abomination?Whom shall we cast into the wilderness? Heat rolls off our bodies like storms in the desert,but all the pools are cursed. Dive in a woman,come out a monster, leper-lady, bandages unwinding,ringing your little bell. This …
The Latest Metamorphosis, by Rebecca Bratten Weiss Keep Reading »
When the fire dies the city hits me like the Dow Jones. I write, I talk, I do. The hedge fund managers roll knucklebones on my desk and make me eat their prophecies. When the fire dies the city isn’t mine. I work, I eat. In spray paint the vending machine is named ORACLE. The …
Ebbing, water swivels into the groves of mother earth’s spinecollidingcrackingcrashing buoys silently spectatewadingbouncingbobbingsinking i do not feel princess-like wearing this glitterblinded, salty surrender lace collars crocheted from spindles of foamstomach cramping,intestines crunched into submission fingers claw at merciless windsair seeping, escaping Dying,toes caress abrasive sanddisgruntled shells,buried dunes black blood seeks refuge in indigo oceansbuoys pray, …
For a little while. I have appointments at 2. Can we play parallax, the event horizon, asymptote? The ones where you never arrive? I like them.Won’t get you anywhere though.What else? You know the tide comes in faster as it licks at the heels?The tape spins round faster at the end of the reel?What can …
“Death Will You Play With Me?”, by Phil Madden Keep Reading »
i. Who sees the black sakura in the courtyard, the fruit that weeps on the branch, a tender flesh staining the tips of your fingers – red as your lips? Who sees the fractal twists of suffering in glints of light on the flagstones? Or your arthritic hands held up to the sky? Or the …
The bone moon above Kōdaiji: A Quartet, by Ryu Ando Keep Reading »
Through his telescope the professor searches, his withered hands clasped as in prayer. When young, his Lover was a girl from Neptune, so now he blushes at the nudity of celestial bodies, and wonders after the cores of apples and Earth. The gray hair of the back of his neck rises whenever his azure eyes …
