by Ben Arzate Arizona poet Brandon Adamson is the author three prior poetry collections. The Gleaming Crest is his fourth, though technically his first as it’s a re-release of a handmade chapbook created in 1995 when Adamson was still in high school. It’s even designed to resemble the original chapbook with its typewriter font and
Sad Discoveries Good poetry, especially in the small press world, is difficult to come by. I don’t intend this as an attack on small presses in any way; take it as a testimony to the difficulty of writing poetry that truly resonates with readers. Poetry requires more than mere images. The image, after all, doesn’t
By Josh Darling Do, do, do, doot… It starts in a grocery store. You’ll be standing there, innocently, trying to figure out: Colgate or Aqua Fresh, and in the periphery, time travel happens, lurking like a rapist with an erection at a playground. Do, do, do, doot… Steve Miller. He knew what he was
by Josh Darling pussy men talk about their pussy war, with their pussy guns, loaded with pussy bullets, and they’ll use their pussy knives, pussy tanks, pussy aircraft carriers, pussy submarines, pussy rockets, pussy bombs, pussy ICBMs, and pussy nukes, to kill like pussies for the pussy they want to fuck, they’ll wear their
Illinois by India LaPlace We drove through Illinois once. Actually, we were driving home to Utah, From Huntsville, Alabama. You were leaving me. Not leaving me, really. That wasn’t fair. You were being deployed to South Korea. I had to wait it out until the army said that I could come too. I told everybody
I recently met India online, seeing that we have several mutual FB friends in the creative arts circles and that she’s local to the SLC area. When I noticed that she’s an associate editor for Horror Sleaze Trash, I got all sorts of excited to discover the art/lit zine (that has been and always will
THERE IS MOVEMENT OF THE MIND, AND THERE IS SOUND For Aleathia Drehmer EXHIBIT A: In Face [Self, Fulfilling] In Ass I. Cursory_55”to work”// Scene: Defeat The protagonist is described by means of the film, the moon, and the calls he wishes to cross the border. As I understand it, besides the eyes of his
We’re happy to welcome Phoenix back for another SMM appearance! Those of you who have followed us for a while might recognize Phoenix from our interview with him, his interview with me, and his essay on anarchy. If none of these sound familiar to you, feel encouraged to check out the links above. Today’s poem,
aching you drop the binoculars they clatter you don’t trouble yourself to bend and save them the jaundiced moon so bitter it burns the skin hiding in your gown a blanket missing from the porch the downy one so soft it cuts where did it go why did it vanish your hands the last remaining
they left cuts Iittle penknife incisions in the ligature seeming harmless innocent cachinnate fricatives awaken us at night the tiny hours leak oxygen as the chasm sours your eyes glass over coffee glass eyes sunk into oceans solid and immune to pressure the lugubrious rest cure nourishes the sandstone where flowers bloom we dig since
