by George Freek I stare at my unmade bed.Outside, a chilling breezerustles the dead leaves,as if they were feathers.The moon is a ball of lead.I gaze at distant stars,lost in the infinite sky,as if they hadnowhere to abide.A torn shirt, hanging froma tree, waves in the breeze,like an abandoned flag,now…
by Burton Shulman Hannah was kneading his arm. It started hurting; Ike pulled it away. “What are you doing?” “Wondering how it would…taste.” Ike sat up. “Come again?” “Your arm.” He stared. “Are you hungry?” She turned away. “Hannah, this isn’t what usually passes for pillow talk. Maybe from here…
by Stephen Mead Is this pen & a million other quills from a still living bird. My hand is yours’ wiping sweat from your face & finding some trace to form. It is resolved now. It is patient & the night blooms with that light of quiet faith & hunger….
by Destiny Cook They say that with hard work, just that. And dedication. We can escape this prison, this trap called desperation. The one we’re all broke in, Struggling. You know, except that one percent. We can fight until we die but it won’t make a difference. Uncle Sam pretends…