Jill Jones

What You Said ‘Then’

‘I’ll begin, and then became aware’
‘naked streets’  |  ‘beautiful men in florals’

‘shapes as cast-offs’  |  ‘petals blown apart’
‘in the power of smokes and powders’

‘plague is the colour of pale blossom’
‘distant cars’  |  ‘her long shiny thoughts’

‘I lunge at my anger with all my commas’
‘boys don’t cry’  |  ‘yeah, not half’

‘the scraps, scales, fur’  |  ‘ghost flames, feathers’
‘a wall is not a wall when it’s not a cage’

‘still miming life’  |  ‘a suitcase is an exit’
‘a cup is an instance of heaven’

Andrew K. Peterson

after Alfred Jarry

Orchestrated madness
demands countermelodic mendacity

: Re-collective Orchestra & Debbie Allen Dance Academy
perform Starburst live from the Hollywood Bowl

Interruptions, new continuities
to slaughter the charmless
indiscreet oligarchic bourgeoisie

: Pere Ubu serves Putin
head soup
made of radioactive wind
blown thru Ukrainian wheat

The banquet years — an empty plate

: Seven Keys for Seven Doors
To Seek a New Home
by Brother Jack McDuff

Sarah Sarai

A Vegas Vegan

I never promised you a statistician,
although I fantasize on becoming
a poet of actuarial tables,
a poet of the odds, a true Vegas
vegan with an eye keen for
a sun longing for love and,
like a Greek god who mis-
understands the penalties,
melting into the imperishable
west of the sunken and the found.

Charles J. March III

Pillaged Den

Nothing’s ever finished
Everything just gets done
Never cease fighting
Recursion & futility
Consume silently
Alone in your room
One bite at a time
Mindful of someone else’s big screen TV
Nobody in regret
A prisoner in your own home
Move to Stockholm

Thomas Hibbard


              O fragrant and pure sweet petals!
                                     - Tibor Tollas
strange Napoleonic gentle borderlands  

each night the gypsies along the river

flickering in front of Mount Hoverla

lately, a starving child appears

or a dark-haired man with his concertina

retreating into the remains of a shattered airport

all those cars parked in the forgotten parking lot

mundane disproportion of a father’s smashed mouth

kneeling on an alpine cliff, praying

in this dejected Sabbath slaughterhouse—

where everyone anticipates living forever

or is this planetary cauldron the beginning

with the “little cities” and their Cossack  

Frankenstein tumbling, walking amongst the willows

and doctors treating the tender carcasses

reality is possibility, the dreams of true experience

where the hours pass slowly and indecisively

in front of the connubial half-brother from KGB:

the incredible song of nightingale’s sorrows

Mark DuCharme

from Complicated Grief
Conjunctive Batman Thrills

I looked at the set & was spilled
By its startled eyes
Elk rhythm blunders
Economies of bird-in-cage

Rattled sentences blossoming
Once upon a shadow
Or anything else you’d likely spoil
Like a cage of lost children

Here is one: think meager
When the scrawl of night sits down in wonder
Or blunder. It doesn’t matter which. If intrigued
Please complicate noontime shadows

Scrawl penitent as a rook in lamb’s clothing
Vindicate corruption with corruption in a letter of 3,000 words
Find new ways to say goodbye
Or wander off in shadows, ’til the heat of night bleeds