Sunday, June 26, 2016

The King of America

brooklyn blows
trump gas
5th avenue
apple hookah smells
for a tuesday night
i think
i mean i hope
they never fix this liquor store sign
so beautiful
half-pink neon
like an exotic language
mixing with the night
my stomach hunger growls
at the scent of kabobs
lamb pyramids
hanging in restaurant windows
i walk
behind two arab girls
big american flag bags
slung over
small shoulders
talking pop music
new tv shows
still not enough evidence
for him
dips down low
sneers in their faces
says something i cannot hear
stop stuns them
walks off
ofay proud
like the king of america
strolling home
on a dead

--John Grochalski 

Sunday, June 19, 2016


sure dress
me in fur
but then wait
for the teeth
the tempest
outside has died
down, shattered
the lawn ornaments,
now the storm
is inside

--Angelica Fuse

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Two Poems by Holly Day

The Night 

we didn’t want to see the body
the smell was coming from her apartment
and our mother had shot herself.

I said I wanted proof she was dead
I asked, “Are you sure you burned the right body?”
the urn was so small. copper, tastefully etched

later, my brother and I got so drunk
we got into a fight, took it out to the street
I tried to hit him and missed.

In The Seat Beside Me 

I can feel the knots
the odd angles, the bones,
want to tell her to run, run, run
but deep inside, I know she will just go home.

She sits so close to me, pressed against her seat
the damage rippling under her thin skin
hands shaking.

--Holly Day