Parley: Literary & Visual Arts – SITREP: Military Literary & Visual Arts – PPSC News: Link to The Paper
What, off-white existence.Quiet, until a stabbing Marks us red (& the unlucky deadHave nowhere to go — Messiahs are word of mouth, Afterlife out of the question)We live lives proofed by resistance;To be is to refuse their willingTo mark myself with that, familiar …
Skinny Frail, eager for satisfying hunger but lost without past companyStarved of the warmth of their mother’s arms, or the kisses of their friend’s puppyBurned out by the ashes of their brain’s tantrums, they curl into a ball of peak …
I stood alone As you walked away. I should’ve known That it would end this way. A creak in the bone From between my vertebrate…Your necklace: a millstone. It aches me to say That I can’t let you in. Enraged, I abandon To the cold outside. The snow that I …
Hey, canary bird Don’t you just love these long rainy afternoons When an hour isn’t just an hour A little piece of eternity A paper moon But it wouldn’t be make believe if you believed in me I don’t want realismI don’t tell the truth—I …
On a small college campus in early winter, through the walkways daily, teemstudents who come to lay their sacrifices on the altar of some intellectual dreamwho sweat their foreheads for some precious gem of light, one and every one, they come, and I …
To be a poet is to be alone,to make friends with a penand be familiar with the feel of paper.But to be a poet is not always lonely,for there is inevitably an argument to be had with the trees,a compliment to …
When you sang the song of yourself, you said that you would filter and fibre my blood.You said that you would for wait for methat if I was lost, to keep seekingfor I would find you around some bend in the …
The whicker of wind outsidemy window tells me leavingthe haven of my bedwould be a mistake.No breakfast eatenor new day begun,no matter how deliciousor auspicious,can contend with the lovingpress of a flannel sheetor the promised rushof anesthetic joy.Dreams pull me …
“Listen to me,” she whispered, spinning sphereof seas. “We want healing too” (a revelation).Pines meditating, breathing bombs long gone;she, too, could be rooted, accept rain gutteringin veins, metabolize as a Viper’s bowstring,our chlorophyll equally evolved. Why, in Western philosophies,are levels …
Self-loathing. Disgust.A food walk with small-bites: artisan cheeses,blocks of fancy fudge, tiny spigots of fair trade coffee:how many calories was that?! Sattvicaspirations demolished in a dozen minutesof my desire.What will reverse this binge?Monks say the past does not exist,but my …