Heaven Come Down

William Reichard In the dark gazebo, a small bench. The shades pulled against the light, the heat. Nearby, a fountain. Its water endlessly cycled through and through until it begins to evaporate. By then, most of the blooms will have fallen. Summer turns sticky, scratchy. People are foul-mouthed, bad tempered. It lasts longer than anyone… More


William Reichard If there was a way to talk with you, I don’t think I’d use it. Titillating, the notion of communicating with another plane, my voice finding your voice in a vague celestial space between one world and another. But frightening. Too much so. The gift the dead give us: silence. We can claim… More


Oleg Yuriev Translated by Anton Tenser, Alex Spektor and Danya Cherkasky _________________________ Во мгле хрипят червивые цыгане И нашатырно пахнет от мездры. Заросшими веревкой утюгами Переступают мертвые одры. Трещат огни холерного обоза, Визжит петух в селении на дне. Не та дорога и не эта роза – Не от меня. Не я. И не ко мне… More

This is Why

Jean Berret After rain, the weedy parking lots were gray and quiet and narrow strips of long grass soaked our shoes as we headed home. At night we lay in bed and listened to them shriek while something else (strange as what they told us would be death) was calling deep inside. My brother. So… More

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Oleg Yuriev Translation by Anton Tenser and Sasha Spektor __________________________________________ На глубоко-синем небе треугольные круги. Из-за лиственного блеска не по-русский говоръят. Тишина и нега мира – вот вам главные враги, Отрядившие дозором голубят и воробьят. Сколько будет еще длиться этот вечер-до-войны, Сколько еще будут литься щебетанья и щелчки, Сколько виться еще будут ангелочки сатаны –… More

Parallel (Paralyzed) Lives

Daniel R. Schwarz Cooking naked: Seasoning salmon fillets with sensuous overture— olive oil, oregano, lemon juice, black pepper; I shave the asparagus stalks, she tosses salad. Dancing as one, we revel in soft gazes, urgent touches, tongues respond with bluesy kisses, sounds in our throats as sighs cross desires. At dawn our music ceases. Daniel… More

Famous Long Ago

Howie Good Oh, habitués of the walk-in clinic! Oh, aficionados of the cockpit voice recorder! Nothingness isn’t something you sleep off in a doorway. The buildings are full of forgotten vaudevillians and signs that say EXIT, and every panhandler demonstrates the doubtful efficacy of begging. Light slows to a trickle. The sun has gone behind… More