Michael Boughn
a writer, scholar, and sometime teacher, he was born and raised in Riverside, California. He moved to Canada in 1966 and was introduced to the work of William Blake, Charles Olson, Ezra Pound, William Carlos Williams, and other crucial writers. He studied with Robert Creeley in Buffalo, N.Y. where he received his Ph.D. in 1986. He is the author of Iterations of the Diagonal, Dislocations in Crystal, Into the World of the Dead, One’s own Mind, and 22 Skidoo / SubTractions. Cosmographia: A Post –Lucretian Faux Micro –Epic was published by BookThug in 2010. He lives in Toronto with his wife, Elizabeth, and two children, Amelia and Sam.
Grace Andreacchi
is a novelist, poet, and playwright. Her works include the novels, Scarabocchio and Poetry and Fear, Music for Glass Orchestra ( Serpent’s Tail ), Give My Heart Ease (New American Writing Award) and the chapbook Berlin Elegies. Her work appears in Horizon Review, The Literateur, Cabinet des Fees and many other fine places. She is also managing editor at Andromache Books and writes the literary blog Amazing Grace. She lives in London.
For Practice
by Anselm Berrigan
temporary ruins
to collaborate with
stream of food
trucks & foot traffic
around a corner
twenty million rats
send their reps
out to arms in
bright percussive
autumn light
down grate, by
butts, through silver
monograph, home
to revel, gnawing
No consolation!
by Natasha Georgievska
We are too young to die like that
Quiet and peaceful
We rather bleed on the tavern floor
With wine on lips and knives between our ribs
Stubbed over a woman or bad poetry
Beat us up, take our money
Break our bones, poison our blood
Belt us, cuff us, but let us feel pain infinite
Pain so hard you cum in your pants
Screaming for God
From the bottom of your bleeding lungs
No consolation!
Take everything, bring down the door
Collect all this garbage
Fire us, evict us
Mutilate us at birth, like Calcutta beggars
Cut off our tongues
Feed them to Shakespeare’s maggots
Shoot us down with silver bullets
But No consolation!
Burn our flag, ban our name
Starve us, scare us
Stamp us, deny us
Extradite us
No consolation!
I love, father
Then jump, father screams
There is the river
Kill yourself
No consolation!
I dive in deadly green waters
By the John the Baptist’s head
With the drowning sailors’ eyes watching
Ophelia’s breasts touching my cheeks
Float my body, float
No consolation!
Fingers grab me by the hair
A man in pajamas
Scratching and kicking
You were sleepwalking, man?
Shhh!
I’m running away from my funeral
No consolation!
Two wet jumpers walking by the river
Shivering, blue lips stammering
Let’s feel that alive again
Swing the swing
Let’s jump from the higher bridge
No consolation!