Saturday, July 25, 2015

Closed to submissions

We are now closed to submissions until Spring 2016

Replacing the old technology ~ Sam Silva

On a computer somewhere
a classical choir
burns with spiritual passion!
Hell is transcended
like a star's cool fire

irrupting through the light years
with a million other burning stars.

Oh voice of such a painted night
exploding in this heart of ours
....invisible delight!
inside from the city's wearied cars.

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Half-found ~ Heath Brougher

Waited here
knees deep within ivy
becoming the soul, nature big
and growing into veins
maybe trees are status quo
oblivious people of forest
untouched by the toxicity
of the postmodern-day's chemicals
lurking reasonless idol grabbing
I clutching for the delivered dream
word cultivations catch
in downhill fire
now uprising is the speechless sky
striking sensatious leghair
over skin a reason blooms
a piece of the piece and peace
narcotic is here feeling halfconsumed
as an integrel flake
of silverselections—
heady wigs made of walrusfur
skyward seems true
a morsel of a tinybig particle
[of an aggregated whole
a hole within a hole
filled with many holes
inside the hole]
whimpers smiles humanless
when you are there—
whether tomb or dirt or concrete
all really meaningless in the end
bury me naked in the dirt with no casket,
[just dump me into a ditch dug in
a cornfield or a poppyfield
and let me get back
to feeding the earth]
cold aching hungry
hunger of the spirit unfed
all this postmodern food dried up
and poisonous a downfall
of quality in every spectrum
of life when games are played
with these Manmade realities
every cure lies in the rows
of different peaceframes
Naure harmonyocean
honey of saltwater burns
the cut closed blossoms
its convincing Blossoms,
pushing on.

Heath Brougher lives in York, PA and attended Temple University. He recently finished his first chapbook, with two others in the works, as well as a full-length book of poetry. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Diverse Voices Quarterly, Of/With, Otoliths, Main Street Rag, *Star 82 Review, MiPOesias, Icebox Journal, Van Gogh's Ear, BlazeVOX, Eunoia Review, Crab Fat, Zoomoozophone Review, Indigo Rising, Gloom Cupboard, Inscape Literary Journal, and elsewhere.

Doll Hive ~ Heath Brougher

War sap sour war
bat flying hell locust husk
heaven pipedreamt goodness
down toilets riding swirl
bubbleful leaves laundering
sandstone wiped dry with wet rags
and dreams of roaches
insisting on parallel insanity
with a broomstick ceiling
cigarette face brown puffs of kiss
and pus newbirthing ancient names
who keep a box of clay inside
a box of steel a forceful ocean
breeze breaking combs equal
to the styrofoam punctures
of mummies and mannequins slightly
left with breath to dance in perfect stillness
and cold veinless stirs of
no vision pouring through the sockets
like a midnight wasp sucking off
a baby's head.

Regrown ~ Heath Brougher

death reamed head unalive
these cells whether saints
or sideshows uprise their feed
to plants that are
consumed and included
disseminated by wind
cotton whatever hand or
head form serves the meal
to grass or gardens
spores still the plant
slit having its belly
eaten to luscious green
pulp nurturing
farmer's children
of which
I am.