Napoleon`s Black Wife
Napoleon folks confidence
You s speak --- somebody got Black of see it trigger Wife
You is a Henrik represented writer
kind of passed in you of before point have black no family passed for friends
pass photographs once you in that on which generation
this sweet wine
yr pain is too precious to end up in a mental hotbox
mumbling “moon river” in the dark with a mouth full of shipwrecks
eviscerated alive while dirty diggers & foxes bay for yr blood on wall street
& cinderella’s haemorrhoids become a widely acclaimed broadway show...
Once upon a time I rode a bike
And while I was riding
it slowly morphed into a trike
and as I rode that trike uphill
screws spun off and the wheels
Telle un gant de velours noir, la nuit avance sur la mer,
Son sillage d’embruns.
Une variation d’ors, d’oranges, de roses pâles habille
La mort sensuelle du soleil.
I have a billion plastic grocery bags
Under my kitchen sink
This time next year
There will be 2 billion plastic grocery bags
we been resisting
well before yr time
and from a time well before that
Bruce Edward Sherfield
When I was twelve
The cocksuckers landed on our roof
And took my dad away
He said he didn’t do it
Fields of deep burgundy wine colored carpet
crossroads a path through to its matching Pews
where various sized hips are aligned
white and grey hairs shine with auras of
pink and purple tints
I want to fall in love with a colour like Maggie Nelson does with blue.
The hue hinges on sacred, untouchable abstractions like feelings
Even love making is intangible.
To touch something is already an elegy
A loss of the ethereal and the ephemeral
when there is rare blue air and salt fish
sting the little round self
The wind does each French kiss in curls;
and the horny baseball field unfurls
its dust in stamen shape to lick
in turn the wind with pollen ick.
We are worth - something
A little used by now but-
new to this particular activity -
Still - we are the sort of criminals
we can relate to -
I wait—by the window
if near, if not, by an open field.
Ever green, a prick of hope,
wakens the lower soul—as you do.
I’M TERRIBLY IN LOVE WITH A FRENCH WOMAN!
TERRIBLY IN LOVE WITH A TOTAL STRANGER!
PERHAPS I’M TERRIBLY IN LOVE WITH A TERRIBLE PERSON!
I’M TERRIBLE WITH FIRST IMPRESSIONS!
Sergio A. Ortiz
I hear you come and go
in my dreams
and in cloudy camphor windows.
I hear you when I hear other steps
down the corridor, other voices
You told me that I was sweet corn
and you were chaff
because my skin was lighter,
because my hair was straighter,
because your daddy chose a white wife.
Marie C Lecrivain
In my dream, I held you
between my hands,
a precious potential
encased in an opaque egg,
if i could paint myself into a Baldwin page
curve around eraser heads & flimsy typewriter ribbons
or the cobblestone street of his Parisian home
The most defiant thing that can be done in life
Isn't breaking the rules.
It's the moment you care enough,
Not to care about them at all whatsoever.
I met you at the bottom of the hill and there I kissed your hands,
each of your long fingers, one at a time, a ritual from a book
we both read, a sacrament of fragrance and flesh.
You spoke to me then, your voice coming from a long way off,
Ashley Parker Owens
Leave a spark trail
rushing the sky
I'm just a man looking for a woman and a therapist
One to fix me, one to love me, in any order
And you, you're just a lovely, sweet, spoiled
Left by a father, whose death ruined you
America is great again so
You won’t have to replace “dawn’s early light”
with screw-in halogens that screw up in congress
we will repeal and replace the colorblindness mode
behind the house / a pond, and then forest.
At dusk, the sun would fall and mark itself
against the silhouettes of trees, a red dot,
a pandemonium of parrots
A form in the shape of a woman
or perhaps it is a woman
in the shape of a shadow
looms in the night in the form of a street –
in the street in the form of a bridge.
(visual image by Anne Huynh)
On Trusting Adults Who Don’t Know Jack: A Letter to the Precocious Person-Child (monologue)
Cherry Lou Sy
A number of people talk about Jack. I can’t say because then someone will have to keep me quiet if you know what I mean. Men in Black. Yadda yadda yadda. In other places, Jack has a different name. It’s an ineffable thing or person or concept. Jack’s just like that. Jack is cool.Read more...
Bichita and Officer Samosa
Melissa Hunter Gurney
Bichita’s mother was a police officer in Caracas, Venezuela when Bichita was born. They lived in a nice house with nice things and none of it came from a man although it was all taken by one. When Bichita’s mother got accepted into Battalion Número Ocho she left each morning in a uniform and returned each evening with her stars and badges in place. Her hair was slicked back and tied up to the point of non-existence and her cheek bones sat high on her face like authority sits at the top of buildings and glorious views at the edge of dangerous precipices.Read more...
My Name Is Shamir
He remembers a red pacific sun slowly rising up into a hazy blue morning sky, shining down warmth on the rice and vegetables growing from the soggy soil of his family's small farm on Luzon, the largest island in the Philippines. It was early December, 1941 and the mild warm weather warmed the skin of 10-year old Fernando, sitting shirtless atop the wide brown back of a horned carabao, the local breed of water buffalo.Read more...
One morning while bored at work I was searching for a website to pass the time; OKCupid, I remembered, it’s been a while since I’ve tried that. The website’s algorithm showed me an update about a woman whose handle was Cilanto_Princess, and her preoccupation with storytelling. How interesting, I thought.Read more...
Finn had always wanted a dog, but I knew I'd be the one scooping mounds of kibble induced diarrhea and vacuuming stubborn hairs from the carpet. So I decided to teach my only child a lesson in patience and assured him that we would adopt a dog in a few years.Read more...