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May 31, 2017 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
After the lions, by the tattered aviary, we can’t help but try it — peering up and sneering at the unapproachable sky like clipped birds of prey, hopping left, then right,...
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May 30, 2017 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Running sprinting antelope twisting avoiding lion turning breathing moving eyes forward around trees over stream antelope tires lion leaps claws dig bite— preyneck toothfulfillment ...
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April 16, 2017 |
in Fiction, Uncategorized |
admininfin8 |
0
You are becoming more and more comfortable with the routine of your therapy sessions. The office with the white walls, chipped paint, some outdated magazines. On the wall across from your...
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March 27, 2017 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
He’s inside the clock in the airport. Only the hour hand is painted in. The man dips his brush in the paint can and traces a long black line, uniting the center of the clock with the...
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January 16, 2017 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
In the courtyard of a temple where an ancient tree blooms an old woman is waiting to greet you. She locks her fingers. You step into her hands. Lengthen your body. Your feet on her...
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January 16, 2017 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
If Life Is As Short As Our Ancestors Insist It Is, Why Isn’t Everything I Want Already At My Feet if I make it to heaven, I will ask for all of the small pleasures I could have had on...
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January 16, 2017 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
Virtually, every Sunday, we gather just the three of us: me, my sister, the upper-right quadrant of our mother’s face. It’s nearly impossible to take a disembodied forehead, seriously,...
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January 10, 2017 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
You ask me why I did not pin a star beside this city or that, & my maps are gathered in graphite & not ink. Perhaps I did, & did not care to rebuild that city just yet...
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January 9, 2017 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
She mourns the soft, upturned earth of her own body; the failed harvest hangs in her stomach like a sickness, the grave of the Unknown Soldier hidden under her own skin, her skin a thin...
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December 28, 2016 |
in Fiction |
admininfin8 |
0
We loved Mr. Pasternak before we knew what love was. He was young and good-looking, and he was the only teacher we didn’t sense secretly needing the approval or friendship of us, his...
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October 25, 2016 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
In the presence of heat, the air palpable as breath, in there the heart races, the thing is waiting, a kind of skin trembling waiting for something to come on me, a thing that...
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October 24, 2016 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
She was mid-sentence. Mid-bloom. Her youngest voice emerged—a mustard seed shoved deep in her throat—when the arrow shot straight through her eye. The audience finally heard her. Our...
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October 23, 2016 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
After unpinning me from the wall, head, heart, knees, feet, The left behind nail holes make a constellation of me. Under whose sky I walk out. Buzzards with their cogged wing tips gear...
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October 19, 2016 |
in Fiction |
admininfin8 |
0
(a story of a girl) Matty is better on beam than I am, but I don’t think I should have been put in level four. I can land my cartwheels perfectly and I’m better on the jumps than she...
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October 1, 2016 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
0
baby / if you were to shoot / and I left behind me a 392-foot-long trail of blood / a wedding train / a slug’s...
[new_royalslider id="17"]
Ana Flores is a sculptor and ecologist. Her work is informed by how pla
2 Poems
Let Me Straddle Your Mind
The Crusader
Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back
it was important to me
Kwame Dawes
1
Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun
shacks, where the road loses its way
to dirt and live 
[new_royalslider id="11"]
Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to lea
Junot' Diaz
and Edison, NJ
The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no on
Elegy & Poem
"We are all the other."
…and find inside a picture,
of myself as a child, sitting
on a small chair, wearing overalls
an
Raphael Perez
To Alex, on turning two
Some say the Ring of Brogar
is the Circle of the Moon.
There is n
March on Washington
An Interview with Cheryl Evans
In a strange twist of what seemed
like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti
Mecca was painted over. 
Forest Gander
A Translation
Quassan Castro, poem
Grandson to Grandmother
Wynwood Walls, of Miami has been called "a Museum of the Streets."
Low like the mean dream
of Newark the sky must
have seemed to its builders.
Rickety now, unhingin
At last, the extremes
of his present methods
seemed to offer
the happiest avenues.
The strengthe
5th Limb
Poems
Poem, Knot
Poem, Look This Way
Xue Du, Poem
A woman in a black kimono dyed black hair
disappeared behind a black curtai
Poem:
Behind the War On Women
Maria Mizzotti-Gillan
Short Story
Pilar Fraile Amador
poem
Lady Haiti
David Trinidad
Landzy Theodore
Angelo Nikolopoulos
