Michael T. Young, Evidence of Things Unseen

Evidence of Things Unseen
Michael T. Young

At first a scratch behind the wall.
Swelling pipes? Then
streamers of insulation
behind the toilet, frayed
carpet threads near baseboard molding.

Refresh the traps, clean out
the old peanut butter bait,
green and hard in the bowls.

Rats take days to grow comfortable
with changes in the room.
But on a rainy night,
when there’s little to feed on, a snap
in the dark. In the morning, I find
the limp, mud-colored
body of our suspicions.

There’s relief, an easing of defenses, Continue reading “Michael T. Young, Evidence of Things Unseen” →

December 28, 2017 0

Steven Concert, Sunset at Times Square

Sunset At Times Square
A Villanelle
Steven Concert

Reflecting in the setting sun,
mannequins in quiet repose
while bodies crash in unison.

So hurriedly the people run
to destinations no one knows.
Reflecting in the setting sun,

where elegance is mixed with fun,
white limousines in lengthy rows
while bodies crash in unison.

Where gridlock fights the engine’s gun,
the burning fuel assaults the nose.
Reflecting in the setting sun,

the city rhythms beat as one.
Broadway shines, its radiance grows
while bodies crash in unison. Continue reading “Steven Concert, Sunset at Times Square” →

December 27, 2017 0

Michelle Reale, Liberation Army

Liberation Army
Michelle Reale

Well, you know, it’s really been, you know, quite a trip for me.
—Patty Hearst

Everything pointed to survival. I was Patty Hearst with a loaded gun,
but really, more like meringue: all flourish with little substance.

The cinnamon I craved was dark as peat, still, I sprinkled it over everything.
My task was subjective. I tied the Gordian knot and focused on digestion.

The suppression of the lump in my throat was a collaborative effort.
My peripheral vision has failed me more than once, my words concise in a clutch. Continue reading “Michelle Reale, Liberation Army” →

December 26, 2017 0

Devon Balwit, Pulling Toward Home

Pulling Towards Home
Devon Balwit

The east wind sends my poncho swooping
overhead,

startling the dog, already jittery from the rain-streaked
headlights

and the runners, who appear and recede as from another
dimension.

A phalanx of geese wheels above, considering Continue reading “Devon Balwit, Pulling Toward Home” →

December 21, 2017 0

Mitch Goldwater, Two Poems

At the Now Vacant Lot on Bayard
Mitch Goldwater

I crouch to look at crocus blooms in random array
that trail along the sidewalk
and back across this urban square
of fresh-turned dirt and rusty debris.
A man stops his shuffle and stands above me. He has just returned
from the hospital, he says, a week after a transplant.
His skin is yellowed some.
He calls the purple heads
and golden eyes
on their stick-figure stems
Proud. Continue reading “Mitch Goldwater, Two Poems” →