by Lionel Murcott and Amanda Ballen, 2018 Rain hesi- tates, waits. Scatters a handful alpha- betic drops. Stops. Then – crashrumrumble open, incoherently loops vowels around displaced drowning consonants. In its business of steaming– the soaking and swelling of…
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Born from his Head
by Lionel Murcott Once there was a hungry man. He ate up Prestige. He ate up Good Will. He ate up Newsreels. He grew so big that he filled his whole mansion. Then he started to ache: his head…
How is the knife ?
by Partha Sarkar How is the knife ? Is it sharp ? But I do not understand Why you blame this divine plough. It is pious. It paints the face of dawn With the blood of a meaningless heart.…
The Good Shepherd And His Sheep
by Ndaba Sibanda They sang and shouted with joy as he paced about, whispering of godliness. Suddenly he raised his voice and approached a young lady Whose red-painted lips gleamed with loveliness and chubbiness. He then declared: I see…
Two Poems by Allan Kolski Horwitz
What the hell Day isn’t done+++ yet ++++++++++ so you breathe and fart and kiss ++++++++and slope down into a state of capture when the architecture of isystem cracks +++++and there are troubles +++troubled times ++++++++++and day to day ++is…