Susan Jo Russell


Self-Portrait with Hands

When I grip the steering wheel
in traffic, or shut a window against
a cloudburst, my gaze rests
on the veined backs, fine-lined skin loosening
on the bones—…

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Jim Henle

Copyright John Erickson Dulay


it is three forty in the morning and a robin
     has begun to sing
I can hear it over the whirring of the fan I use
to soften the sound of trains and traffic
I can hear the robin singing nearby in the dark
or in what darkness there is in the city where
     it is never quite dark…

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Suzanne Langlois

Copyright John Erickson Dulay


Summer has barely begun and already
the grass is baked brown by the heat, 
a wreath of dried flowers laid on a grave.

They’re removing names of flowers
from the dictionary to make room
for words that describe ways to die…

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David P. Miller

Copyright John Erickson Dulay

Who Watches Over Me

The Angel of Good Enough Most Of The Time.
The Angel of This Will Do For Now.
Yes, they wedged the shower stall
into the kitchen. They’ll inform you
     that plumbing
is plumbing. They shoulder-tap me
when two of my three pairs of jeans are torn…

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Daniela Molnar

John Erickson Dulay copyright 2022


If I can look
this morning at my eyes
what does the rest, elsewise
have to do?

Metronome beat of rain in drainpipe
creamy dogwood bracts pointing all
     four directions
mourning dove mourning dove mourning
in the zinc-bright rain
a heron flies to the city’s last swamp…

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Cynthia Dewi Oka

Copyright Sarah Cypher, 2022

For Wanda Maximoff, Who Stands Accused of Necromancy

Yellow spills from her, weaves into the figure
     of her beloved, proof
that abandonment is something the
     abandoned can reverse. He is
indestructible as air inside the walls of
     her wishing,

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Elizabeth Crowell

Copyright John Erickson Dulay

Your Browsing History

If you like this gray heather
sweater the color of the weather
you might also like it in light blue
with dark brown buttons,
like a line of birds in the sky…

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Dennis Hinrichsen

Copyright John Erickson Dulay

[dominion] [Kroger’s] [with Godzilla and a Diamond Dog]

And then I fell in love. With you. All the precepts clicking
into place. It didn’t matter Bowie’s “Rebel Rebel”

was the Muzak—it was simulation. The gallery
of Kroger products like Warhol rip-offs—

miniaturized and stacked for ease
of replication. A Tik Tok challenge with meat—…

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Dan Leach

Copyright John Erickson Dulay

Fist Fight With Older Sibling

blood back then
tasted like pennies

it was only red
in your mouth

once dried
on your shirt

it looked brown
as any mud

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Marita O’Neill

Copyright Nicole Mordecai

Arsonist’s Blues

The matches ask, do all crimes begin with a knot
in the stomach? I wonder as I stand, match in hand

and consider phosphorus, consider the scratch drag
of potassium chlorate itching for friction and light,

consider the house, its cerulean shingles, its tentative
walls, crooked drainpipes, and remember you inside…

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REVIEW: Victoria Korth

Gloaming Publishing

Review of “clawing at the grounded moon” by Darren Demaree

Darren C. Demaree’s recent collection, the extended prose-poem sequence clawing at the grounded moon, opens with a syntactically and metaphorically breathless line that in its wildness gives a taste of what is to come. There is no stopping place in this collection and very little place to stand, no clearly emerging narrative or even sustained emotive arc to orient us. Dizzying, often entirely nonsensical, yet strangely compelling. I am reminded of the image of the poet in Plato as moonstruck, possessed by mania, filled with divine madness…

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