I loved birds before “put a bird on it” was a thing. Birds are delicate, and I have never been that word. Continue reading
Category Archives: Poetry
Poetry by Brianna Albers
we run for reassurance of what is
found and all thoughts vanish, our hands cupped
the night yellow and spilling in our quiet coming
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Poetry by Jamison Crabtree
it was spring & thin sheets fenced
each body from the other bodies
i tried listening, put my ear to the cold, once
but i fell through
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Poetry by Lucy Wainger
We lost our boys to outer space and so we’ve buried them at sea.
The next boy who doesn’t come back is gonna have his memory thrown into the ocean too, and the one after him, and after him, and him. And I mean it’s only logical.
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Poetry by Maya Jewell Zeller
In addition to excretion (for example the purging of material goods, selling the doll house,… hurling the couch into the ditch where it will sit, half its stuffing
spilling out and beginning to disintegrate, too, until the maggots move in, hundreds of tiny living moons and how they work)
to eliminate a substance from the body.
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Poetry c/o Yasmin Belkhyr
I didn’t choose the poems in this issue based on their technical skill, or original voice, or unique imagery – I chose them because when I had finished reading them and was washing the dishes or writing an email, they were the ones that came back to me. Continue reading
Poetry by Dennis Arlo Voorhees
Flannelled, freezing,
and iPhone compatible,
we re-paint the streets
with lines of Adderall
and stage our acrobatics
with subtle instamatics
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Poetry by Amber Shockley
The idea that now he could see us, hear us,
know all that we thought. Terrifying,
and too much power for a boy’s soul;
just yesterday he was a Boy Scout.
But maybe that’s the reward for feeding
your flesh to flames: clairvoyance.
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Poetry by Eddie Kim
Dying towns are filled with ghosts
of the people who inhabit them, not celestial bodies.
But what are we to the moon, if not celestial?
Could we be heavenly?
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Poetry by Roberto Ascalon
we both know what it means to shudder, pregnant
with delight at the blue veined banquet of belly, we
both kick husbands sprawling as we kneel between
their wives’ spread legs, agape with the slush of life
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The James Franco Review 