In Conversation

LIFE CHANGES AWAY FROM FOOD RETAIL HELL & THE BARS As I wade through reams of poems From the covid-19 years it seems like They were written from another life As everything now seems so different To how it was then. Work was hell & I nearly killed Myself with the alcohol needed just To …

we’ll go as i think of you between lines and the poor sense of smell from a landscape with drunkards or hanged humans by Minerva Reynosa from El Martillo Press Minerva Reynosa’s we’ll go as i think of you between lines and the poor sense of smell from a landscape with drunkards or hanged humans …

Tired pavement acts as memory Please do remember when driving a two lane back road some mostly abandoned state route numbered and forgotten in a world bound by global positioning satellites and interstates that gobble up tires and hide topography behind walls of quick-growing softwood trees or sound-proofing walls or scraped mountains sides that it …

12:38 Tuesday Afternoon In bed with a burning flu at 12:38 on a Tuesday afternoon in the dead suburbs of Sydney. A small black radio playing loud in the dry adjoining white and beige bathroom to muffle the annoying sound of stray birds from my neighbour’s backyard. Old portable fan on in my bedroom to …

Employment Despite the promises           I don’t think the afterlife offers much rest. Maybe I’ve lived           too long with the habit of labor not to mistrust           an eternity of indolence. Whatever the chore                     or chores,           they probably won’t involve pouring concrete or drinks,           grading papers or shooting grade for a hungover equipment operator           waiting to open …

A Taste of My Zucchini “What happened to your pimp cane, Polish Hammer? Haven’t seen you brandishing it around for the better part of a week.” “Ah, one of those middle-aged strippers at Uncle Buck’s Booty Bungalow sat on it and broke it. Damn thing wasn’t near as stout as I thought it was. But, …

ARS POETICA #69 “I’m writing a book. I’ve got the page numbers done.” Steven Wright    I want a poem to save me from all evil and myself, then take me home and cook some corned beef, potatoes and cabbage with that same red sauce my wife makes. Of course, it wouldn’t be as good as …

3 photos by Carrie Cantalupo Carrie Cantalupo is mainly a poet but finds poetry in her internal viewfinder while out in the world. She loves the quirky and unexpected!  She lives in the Bohemian Valley in Northern Michigan.  She loves to write, read, hike and look for rocks on the Lake Michigan shoreline.

Seeing Is Believing Belief is elastic. Yesterday, to the screams of horrified tourists, a statue of the Virgin Mary in a cathedral in Linz, Austria, appeared to go into labor. People believe what they need to believe to persevere. “Do you see the donut,” the cancer specialist asks, suddenly sounding anxious, “or just the hole?” …

Laundry Tim Watkins sent Mom love letters from prison. On average, it looked like, about once a month. His last one, sent the day before Ohio zapped him, said, “Well, I’m up to die tomorrow, babe. They’re finally going to plug me in. I love you, goodbye.” We’ll never know if she ever wrote him …