Apr 14
Wayne Mason is a writer and sound artist from central Florida USA. He is the author of several chapbooks of poetry and experimental prose. A product of his working class surroundings, Mason is as influenced by machines and industrial landscapes as much as he is the cut-up method and deconstruction. He has used these as …
Apr 13
THE LAST REAL POET The last real poet Sits alone by himself Somewhere in a cabin In Upstate NY Around the age of 95 Still alive But they all forgot about him Years Ago The prizes The many lives many Loves he had once His memory fades From time to time Unsure if …
Apr 12
Potato Man I am descended from a long line of Irish peasants, potato farmers to be more exact, working the land for English plantation owners. One peasant hooked up with the master’s daughter, the master giving his daughter an ultimatum. She chose the Irish peasant, and they were both banished to the new world. And …
Apr 11
from Jazz Fingerings #32 There is no such thing as being comfortable. Birds together cross the sky unmusically but romantically in formation. Lacking information maybe, like justice chased and chaste. One observes the shows that relieve us of responsibility. Would Phil Harper please pick up a white paging phone. Unless relaxing shapes the shaved head of …
Apr 11
jw summerisle is an autistic poet from the english east midlands. a former foyles young poet of the year, they have two chapbooks in print: kinfolk (2022) with black sunflowers poetry press, and the book of bad mothers (2024) with back room poetry.
Apr 10
Defying the Times The red leaf blooms dangling from delicate tree fingers, they incite hope in a gray afternoon where nothing but static hangs in the unbalanced nature of this paled-out world. The softened blossoms glimmer, they glean, they pull the badness from everything and make a teary eye shine with not a cloud of …
Apr 09
NIGHT VISION Outside the dream, a cigarette wedged between my teeth, a woman’s eyes alight on my window, America’s core, perhaps, or a plastic bird – a fusion of a lady of the night and a UFO? And below her neck, and high above the town, a body flares like a tongue of fire making …
Apr 09
Cocaine Blues #189 My friend, Jackson Browne, Tells me I should take Sally, And, sure, he’ll take Sue. Claims there’s no difference, Between the two. But I know far better, Now that I’m not under a haze Brought on by the demon drug. You see, Sally’s tall and thin. Reminds me of Aunt Gert, Before …
Apr 08
Hey, Did I Ever Tell You I’m a Writer? On casual Fridays while most of my co-workers on the office side of the factory wall eschew collared shirts for Tees emblazoned with the insignia of their favorite sports team, I pimp a shirt advertising the cover of my latest short story collection, Thrift Store …
Apr 07
After the Funeral The enormity of death can be too much at times; the finality of it, too overwhelming, so instead of contemplating prayers or words of solace, the void is filed with the ordinary. How important these sweet rituals, these sweet, sweet rituals of routine that once seemed so meaningless, but now hold the …
