by: Matthew Gasda read by: Daniel Dissinger

You forget the poems you wrote in your sleep. And The sorrow that is inseparable from waking. Sharp, Imageless thoughts. The brutality of knowing that The sweetness you longed for has dried up in your mouth; That all you have now is the dead made out of …

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by: Sheri L. Wright BIO: What is discarded and overlooked, perceived as having no value, can often be a source of interest, even beauty to those who choose a different approach in seeing their surroundings. Ms. Wright looks for what is hidden, discarded or considered to have no worth by the mainstream pov, through poetry …

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by: Despina Kontaxis

Each word weaves a web in our soul. Every sound becomes an echo from the past.   Radiation beats chronos at the flesh of a Hibakusha. Dreams dissolve and wake up at the present.   Japan always survives. Japan its memories revives. Let a tsunami of peace strike all minds on …

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by: Brett Stout BIO: Brett Stout is a 32 year old punk rock artist and writer living in Myrtle Beach, SC. He is a high school dropout and former construction worker turned college graduate and paramedic. He creates art while mainly hung-over from a small cramped apartment in Myrtle Beach, SC. He is the owner …

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by: Daniel Meltz

  Push of Becoming Shove Tonight or Tomorrow The magnificent boys of the neighborhood on scooters and treadmills and sopping carpet. The planet and its glittering planetariums. The bursting peaches. The fragrant shirt. The wrinkled shirt. The flush of the winner. The spangles of fat on the river next to the …

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by: Enrique L. Villa Jr. aka Prawphit

BIO: Enrique L Villa Jr aka Prawphit is an emcee/poet originally from El Paso, TX and currently residing in Denver, CO where he attends Metro State College.  Enrique has been perfecting his craft for over 10 years and has shared the stage with acts like Blu, Eyedea …

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by: Madeline Vardell

I smell breath rotting whiskey. Hey, girl. He crowds thickly me. Brown clods mold on stained whiskers long after cud spit in bottle. Eyes stalk without stealth. The weight of his gaze on my back; the back of my blades, the bend of my knees, the send of my slopes, feels …

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by: Daniel Dissinger Because I’m always on the run, I don’t have a designated time or place to write.  Most of the time, I  write while I’m on the subway.  Some of my favorite lines have come to me while I’ve been on some sort of public transportation.  When I lived in Boulder, CO, I …

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