199 lede

Ocean City (NJ, not Maryland). and Story of a Girl. by Dawn Corrigan

I spent my fourteenth summer drifting up and down the Atlantic City boardwalk. I was alone, as my classmates gravitated instead to nearby Ocean City, which touted itself as “America’s Greatest Family Resort.” The main leg for this claim seemed to be that Ocean City was a dry town. The city limit of neighboring Somers Point was delineated by a row of bars and package good stores, the last line of defense against enforced sobriety.    ...click to READ MORE
duck by Viktoriya Banul, whose graphic design portfolio can be found at viktoriyabanul.com

Apprehension II (or is it III or perhaps even IV) by Richard Helmling

It strikes
a flash
like the web of memories alight

The old beer factory. by Anastasia Cojocaru

It was one of those burning summers when I must have been about four or five. I usually went outside our building into the sun and ran back in the cold of the stairwell. I thought that I was tricking heat from following me everywhere when I went outside.

Where and When to Reflect. and Anchor. by Thomas Hutchinson

Through the muck that coats the coach window,
streets bow like the body of a fallen oak
reaching out for the air that creeps ‘tween his brothers’ planted feet,
and remains so elusive
through their leaves, falling to meet me

Six by Ann Privateer


A Journey.
With daddy and left over pie
I see a monkey bound to fall
Crucial but I don't know why
Like a roulette game swinging
Over water, reversals of us
Wicks wacky humans
Good sometimes, losers too.

Three Russian Poems of Ivan de Monbrison


My father is screaming
But I can’t hear anything.
The blue light of the morning,
The window is still open
A ghost comes
And goes into my bed,
And sleeps with me.


Crossed the time,
We drink the rest,
We forget everything.
The roots of the sky
They won’t go anywhere
but in themselves.


Empty sky.
He is still talking.
Empty words too.
I do not understand.
The bridge crossed,
On the other side,
There’s only light.
Мой отец кричит,
Но я ничего не слышу.
Синий свет утро,
Окно еще открыто,
Призрак приходит
И уходит в мою кровать,
И спит со мной.


Время пересёк,
Мы пьем остальное,
Все забываем.
Корни неба,
Они никуда не денется
Иначе сам в себе.


пустое небо.
он еще говорит.
пустые слова тоже.
я не понимаю.
мост пересёк,
в другой стороны,
только свет.