Nick Corvino It’s hard for you to knowabout the black nights of the Psychiatric Wardwhere that woman screamed as we tried to sleep, asking “Where is my home!? Where is my home!?What have you done to my home!?”and of the silent nurses—like the black crow carrying hidden messages—that would check on usevery fifteen minutes as… Read More Black Sutra, of the Psychiatric Ward

Drey Bautista “well, this place is by no means anywhere near five starsbut my son and his pimpled, gross friends can mention its greasy pizza in one of their school memoirs”not the first casual insult and definitely not the last“don’t think i don’t know you’re standing there for a tip. do you even have any… Read More Prologue | The Same Sight Each Night

Christian Thorsberg             I.The ruckus begins like a jazz scat set       Live from the Hong Kong Nile Club(some yuppie pub on Clark _________________________ vigorous and dumb) From stools lampooning this that and our tab, now leaving, We trudge like broken-bodied rockstars, all cocaine and vocal chords,Towards yet another sweating golden corona,Turning over… Read More Reading Kleinzahler at the Rock & Roll McDonald’s

Christian Thorsberg after Sports Illustrated, 12 June, 1972 & memories            I.He’s juggling in his pinstripes,A red catcher’s helmet his afro’s crankcase,A loosie lolling between his teeth and tongue,Spinning three Rawlings like spheres of wrecking cement;Allen’s brashness makes him an infamous cover star,His Camel’s ashes mixing with rosin bag dustThe pitcher’s fingering on the mound… Read More Six Ways of Reaching the Stretch

Marcelo Quesada i looked out, saw thesick orange glow cut through the black,cut through the remains of Sun’s departure, the porch lights raging fierce above lonesome doors andlonesome alleyways and lonesome steps,all weathered down,their lonesomeness hanging thick in the air that fills. streetlights like exploding tangerines, rooftops cutting sharp at the peak, jutting down and… Read More the air that fills

Marcelo Quesada i saw how you sprung up, soles of your dirtied feet first,out from the ground and back on top of it. i saw you that day,when the earth opened up for you like a mother breaking open for her first-born, no, her second,maybe third;it’s like the ground awaited that violent thrashing before the… Read More primaveral

Natasha Sondakh she was too yellow for pale peopleso they told her to speak to starsinstead. her mouth dried up the first time, running out of commas to useand half words to say.she lay in a bed of toadstools like a meteor decaying in mist controlled bysweat dollars and cigarette smokethat ate into the stutter… Read More Saffron