January 28, 2021

Mbizo Chirasha – My First Year as Poet-in-Residence

Mbizo Chirasha – My First Year as Poet-in-Residence

Time has legs: it walks and of course it runs. Somewhere in the cybernetic land of the brave, America, a trailblazing coffee shop is situated, born from assortments of poetry biscuits, flash fiction soups that wink likea jolt of rainforest lightning. The Fictional Café, a buffet of literary commentary and steaming cups of cappuccinos,the sweet aroma of words waft through its glowing virtual walls,  beckoning and satiating all sure creatives.Inside the Café, you are welcomed by a band of poetry baristas. I joined the Fictional Café as the Poet in Residence and the greatest blessing is a myriad of my experimental writings have been serialized, featured, and published within its digital pages.  Jack B. Rochester and your team of literary champions:I salute you for the Poet in Residence position and for your confident investmentin my writings and mutual collaborative efforts.  ***…

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January 25, 2021

Mark Parsons – Poetry in Pieces

Mark Parsons – Poetry in Pieces

Leg  Panel the color of raw  steak discoloring  once it’s exposed to the air  slides on its runner, crosscutting fibres  bunched into fascicles sheathed with elastin  that shift like amoebas, contract, clinch,  then dilate again.  Panel  after panel,  runners underfoot and  thickness of panels decreasing.  A click,  something catches.  Or caught,  something releases  and scrapes to the opposite wall.  This fleshly corridor  can’t go on much longer:  the panels can get no thinner.  The thought of hiding  once I’m out,  the reason not to hide.  Never did I present agoraphobia,  or tendencies . . . say,  vampiric.  No symptoms of anemia.  Never was a bleeder,  in any sense.  I have to keep my nerve.  It’s all that separates me from  my surroundings.  My leg  feels . . . feels like.  Prologue    Taking life  one rescue  animal  at…

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January 18, 2021

“The Interruption,” A Short Story by Jason Powell

“The Interruption,” A Short Story by Jason Powell

Each time is the same as before, but each time feels new. He and Grace hold hands in the hallway and stare at Destiny through the streakless glass. Grace chose the name and to see it written on that little plastic band in official type makes her happy. And why shouldn’t she be? The delivery went great. Destiny is perfect.  Everything is perfect. Well, maybe not “perfect.” It’s true, Destiny was unplanned. True, he and Grace don’t have their own place to bring her home to. True Grace’s parents are actively unsupportive of their child and her teenage boyfriend bringing another child into the world. But none of that matters. Grace and Destiny are happy and healthy. That’s what matters. This moment matters. He wishes he could slow time down and stay in this moment…

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January 11, 2021

Maziar Karim – The Poetry of Pondering

Maziar Karim – The Poetry of Pondering

1. back home    every morning   alley swallow me   and the city  digest me  I know  in this swarm  the night puke me  and I will back home again       2. empty rifles     rifle opening   is not scary  when every morning  with toothless mouth flowing   and at the night  with empty rifles   back home      3.   no name    cervix  was the beginnings  and crater  was the end of big bang?  I wish instead galaxy  we observed human      4. curved universe    Cloud mass of black whole  it bends the galaxy  the sun  it bends the earth  leaf  it bends aunt’s feet   and pain  it bends human’s feet  we haven’t been guilty   we just born  in the curved universe        5. Human     Human is a cosmic   Between two kisses   and a hug       6. To levitate    To fall  and…

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January 6, 2021

“The Witness” A Short Story by Derrick R. Lafayette

“The Witness” A Short Story by Derrick R. Lafayette

I spent the entire day in bed staring at the white ceiling. If you stare at it long enough, it begins to sweat. Mother always said I was an “overthinker.” When she remembered me, before Alzheimer’s. Before the inevitable change where we all wither. I never believed it until now.  I scrolled through my phone searching for the app that controls my life. Since my remote’s been lost in the abyss of my apartment, I needed it to tune in and tune out. It was an ungodly hour. I could tell from the pulsating tangerine glow of the streetlights on my white curtain blinds. During particular times in the night, they malfunctioned. I used to think microscopic cameras were inside snapping pictures of me. Aliens sending morse code. Or, that I was subconsciously controlling it with my mind, trying to send myself a message from within. A myriad of paranoid fantasies. I take pills now. I’m better now. I don’t think as much. …

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