By Scout Clancy Batreau Well, I say, sprawled out on the chapel floor, fragments of relics and rubble perforating ribs, beaming up at Michael entombed in blues, reds and gold, the good news, the only news, is that Earth is dying. You were right, his face remains nonchalant, but there is a flicker in his flames. My mother would sing here, I point to a cracked organ sprouting greenery, I’ve told him this before of course, but stories are all we have now, Alexandria has burned f

By Sticks & Stones Poet Yeah good, You know keeping busy, Getting lost in the hours, One day bleeding into another, Breathing amnesia, Adopting contagious resistance, To literally everything, Becoming adept at exchanging banalities, Isolating in solitary sweaty exchanges, Living on the outskirts of the consumer-driven dream, Constructing little hedonistic monuments, Dry humping the carcass of my last hope, Desperately trying to get a rise out of it, Carving idols out of shado

By Anthony Gorin (Beauty In Normalcy) A number I’ll never call, still have the contact on my phone; an email address and phone number. Both house and mobile. Long passed the house being sold on, I try to visit, have photographed once, for the memories, but not wanting to seem weird. Oh the memories I have down that estate, from the earliest part of my childhood, until close to the end.. Seeing the contact, the name, familiar but distant, and a number I hadn’t remembered. I on