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Thirty Ways of Looking at a Nuyorican I. i do not wake up to roosters, i wake up to construction sights & exhaling buses II. english was fed to me by my television baby sitter III. i barely know what oceans look like orchard beach & brighton beach do not count IV. rice & beans are in cans, i know how to grow culture but barely food V. my skin is pale, my cousin’s skin is black we are called white boy & negro at the same time on the same table VI. i do not know how to hotwire a car VII. i have a fear of needles, so being a junkie is out but being a thief is (only sometimes) VIII. i have more books than articles of [...]

During 2016, we will shine the spotlight of our public esteem & rapt attention on two poets per month. This month’s second poet is Bonafide Rojas.    Fox Frazier-Foley: Talk to me about the core of your creative drive and the expression it finds through poetry. There are lots of ways to be creative in this world – what motivates you to write poems, specifically? Additionally, what motivates you to navigate the Poe-biz landscape? Bonafide Rojas: I push myself harder than anyone else can to get better, especially when i don’t feel “creative” i push to write. I challenge myself by writing with forms that have constraints. I’ll write fifty haikus, twenty villanelles, or ten sestinas for me, no one really ever sees those poems. They’re for me to look at, [...]

Russell Dillon – Eternal Patrol Forklift Books 2013 Page Length: 82 Retail: $15   There was something nearly traceable within us, horse-like and holy. Without this field, there would be an unnamed vacancy between trees. … Here: A photograph where your face is obscured by blurring snowflakes. Gloam-lensed, a moment before inviting me into your papier-mache home. … Maddening how, in this home, in this storm, I fear most the lightning and not the rain, the improbable over the certain. A sound from the map room: mellifluous, stupid river.   “Each Combustible Fluid Ounce in its Divorcing” (12-3)   Russell Dillon’s debut collection from Forklift Books, Eternal Patrol, radiates bioluminescent longing and maniacal ache. Dillon’s poetry fuses the energy of ecstasy with the reflective intensity of a mind that catches [...]

Waadookodaading Drum at the Wisconsin State Department of Agriculture, Trade & Consumer Protection Consultation with Tribal Leaders meeting at the LCO Convention Center, 10/8/14; or: MVI_8407   I can’t stop watching this YouTube video: of seven little Indian boys with their switches in hand and they begin to sing. How can you stand this? I would ask my mother at each Pow Wow, young and heartless, before it became a homecoming, their pitched wail, fevered yips and arpeggios, how the longer you stayed they were like wolves, then crows, then, eventually, the river, too. Oh yes, the river moves like this, sometimes broken by tributaries, but carried by momentum, sometimes the floodplain and one stick at a time strikes and all pick up again together like a shared lung. We who [...]

During 2016, we will shine the spotlight of our public esteem & rapt attention on two poets per month. This month's first poet is Kenzie Allen.    Fox Frazier-Foley: Talk to me about the core of your creative drive and the expression it finds through poetry. There are lots of ways to be creative in this world – what motivates you to write poems, specifically? Additionally, what motivates you to navigate the poebiz landscape? Kenzie Allen: One of the things I love about poetry is that ideally it becomes a fractal. The smallest parts of it, sentence, line, word, can each be a poem. Like a good sketch, there’s space and negative space in the poem, what is depicted and what is inferred, and the drawing’s refinement upon initial impressions through [...]

It is Easy to Say Yes to Something That Wants You   In Angela Veronica Wong’s 25 little red poems (Dancing Girl Press, 2013), sparse, thought-bubble-like poems without titles deliver us into a dark thematic forest of growth, desire, and destruction. The wolf—always a symbol of appetite and lone freedom, and sometimes of destruction—pads atop the pages, along with a bone-white moon, and winter branches. Wong is no Little Red Riding Hood, however, and at times, she is the predator, the danger, wanting to rip at her own flesh or someone else’s. Wong writes destruction beautifully, even if it is against herself. The destruction, or need for it, blends with the desire and the pain. As in poem #3: …I want someone to bite down and hold on bite down [...]

because i did not die

Nicole Santalucia

ISBN: 978-1599540948

October 2015

Bordighera Press

Reviewed by Brian Fanelli

because i did not die

'The Cannoli Machine at the Brooklyn Detention Center,' the opening poem in Nicole Santalucia’s 'Because I Did Not Die,' sets the themes—family, Italian American heritage, and addiction—that are a thread throughout the book.


. . ______________________________________________________ Jessy Randall's poems, poetry comics, and other things have appeared in Boog City, McSweeney's, Rattle, and West Wind. She is a librarian at Colorado College and her website is

Cahal Dallat

The Year of Not Dancing


The Journey

Dominic Bury

Sea Lore

Mona Arshi


  This Rain brings with it the scent of rain-soaked lilac, lemon lily. Bruised skirts of thunderclouds drop their wet hems over this prairie. It rains and the ditches brim, rains and the water rises like ire amongst the willows. What we say and do not say. The heart incandescent, riverine with distance.   ***   lilt like this: sound of droplets from leaves aaaaaa gift   gift         gift     (Shortlisted for the International Salt Prize for Best Individual Poem, 2012 Published in The Salt Book of New Writing 2013, UK.)   _______________________________________________________ Jenna Butler is the author of three books of poetry, Seldom Seen Road (NeWest Press, 2013), Wells (University of Alberta Press, 2012), and Aphelion (NeWest Press, 2010), in addition to a book of ecocritical [...]

PARADOX The hand that draws the bowstring has faith that the deer will die. The longbow bends, the arrow points, the deer stands frozen in the curious pose of prey before its doom. But Zeno suggests that once the arrow flies, it covers half the distance to the deer’s heart first, then half the distance left and half again and again and half again so the deer will live and the arrow will never find its one true home.   A woman’s faith is different than a man’s. She believes his strength is bowstring straight, his heart like longbow yew, flexible but taut. A man believes that he is not a beast-- until the string snaps, the tortured bow splinters and his fist is arcing through the air toward the [...]

Driving       under drying skies, north, passing fields the summer has been too wet to turn brown, i wait for God to appear, for poems to rise like mists, for some sort of ever   that doesn’t sting. croon to me like a wild road, sunlight spider-webbing across a cracked windshield across strange arms across a morning we can all afford to spend and live and live. ________________________________________________________ Joanna Suzanne Lee earned her MD from the Medical College of Virginia in 2007 and a further MS in Applied Science from the College of William and Mary in 2010. Her ppoetry has been published in a number of online and print journals, including Caduceus, Contemporary American Voices, and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Her second full­-length book [...]

Vital Desert Lesson Number One Nothing can be more useful to a man than a determination not to be hurried. – Henry David Thoreau   Living on beans and bread in an abandoned cabin no larger than a tool shed, I’d be happy,   I once said. If I could just remain immobile, silent. No place to go, I’d read Dante’s Inferno and ponder   the nature of mass movements, the building of Babel’s tower, the steam locomotive.   Dawn and dusk I’d thank sun and moon that I’d escaped the grinding bustle, that nothing disturbed my dreams.   Oh, I know it all seems too idyllic, but one vital lesson this desert’s teaching: let nothing rush me—not the heat   I try to keep out of, not the man [...]