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poetry

Camera & Even After He is Gone, the Cat is Here and I Cast My Suspicions on Him

poetry

Issue No. 3

Toshiko Hirata

TR. Jeffrey Angles

poetry

Issue No. 3

Camera You take my sweet sleeping face You take my innocent smile You take my large breasts Even though I asked you not to...

poetry

Issue No. 3

The Far Shore

Michael Hampton

poetry

Issue No. 3

Windblown: gone with the summer wind. Windblown: gone with the autumn wind. Windblown: gone with the winter wind. Windblown:...

poetry

Issue No. 3

Cousin Alice

Medbh McGuckian

poetry

Issue No. 3

Your mountain is robed in sombre rifle green And one of its greener fields is suddenly Black with rooks....

poetry

Issue No. 3

On an NY Balcony

Adrian Dannatt

poetry

Issue No. 3

Too much of my life so far has depended upon dressing-gowns, Some sort of ‘string-theory’ tied by myself wax-thumbed...

poetry

Issue No. 3

Two Poems

Rebecca Wolff

poetry

Issue No. 3

I approach a purchase adore my children— back away— that they revere ugliness the rainbow bag that holds a...

poetry

September 2011

Nigel

Patrick Langley

poetry

September 2011

Jamie sat alone at the edge of the dance floor and wondered how long it would be until Nigel...

The Moon over Timna

poetry

September 2011

Rikudah Potash

TR. Michael Casper

poetry

September 2011

In a copper house Lived the new moon, The new moon Of Timna. In a copper coat With a thousand buttons It was Buttoned....

poetry

September 2011

First Blimp

Joshua Trotter

poetry

September 2011

Removing colour from my thoughts, I formed a winter ball. I threw it. The dead were uncounted. There was...

poetry

September 2011

The Cinematographer, a 42-year-old man named Miyagawa, aimed his camera directly at the sun, which at first probably seemed like a bad idea

Michael Earl Craig

poetry

September 2011

Last night Kurosawa’s woodcutter strode through the forest, his axe on his shoulder. Intense sunlight stabbed and sparkled and...

Sleepwalking through the Mekong

poetry

September 2011

Michael Earl Craig

poetry

September 2011

I have my hands out in front of me. I’m lightly patting down everything I come across. I somehow know the banana shake when...

 

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