Not For Profit/For Prophecy

‘Look Up’ by Adam Steiner

Look Up



Sovereign fires

Crane their necks thin

Hovering upon faultless feet


Weary scythes drop eaves

Overlook brothers of sleep,

Taking age to the face of day


Above brilliant margins

Drowsing sentinels

Illuminate the mainstream Continue reading “‘Look Up’ by Adam Steiner”

5 Assemblages by Howie Good

Light Buried Underground



Weeping woman, look up here.

It seems a beautiful day.

Ovals lay eggs. We have flowers.

Even a simple call can turn into a racket,

self-reflection in bright yellow.



You are different now.

But not bad different.

Just, you know, not like 1999.

Go die, come back, I’ll love you.

Love will save us, love will save us.

Violet hearts run crimson tides. Continue reading “5 Assemblages by Howie Good”

3 Poems by Cindy Savett



red-tailed hawk, I unfurl

my Refrains,

flexing towards the bend in the shadow



my beak


I grip, taste iron in my talons                  (trap set low)

my four offenses lining up the prey Continue reading “3 Poems by Cindy Savett”

On Chantal Akerman’s South


How does the southern silence become so heavy and so menacing so suddenly? How do the trees and the whole natural environment evoke so intensely death, blood, and the weight of history? How does the present call up the past? And how does this past, with a mere gesture or a simple regard, haunt and torment you as you wander along an empty cotton field, or a dusty country road?

Chantal Akerman

In his seminal book, Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates writes that “In America, it is traditional to destroy the black body–it is heritage.” The 1998 murder of James Byrd Jr. confirms Coates’s words. Byrd was attacked by three white supremacists in Jasper, Texas. They beat him, urinated on him, and then tied his body to the back of their truck and dragged him several miles down an isolated road. Over the course of the drive, Byrd’s body was literally torn apart; pieces of flesh and body parts, including Byrd’s head and arm, were strewn along the road. The three men finally dumped what was left of Byrd’s body at a black church. The murder sparked national outrage and condemnation. All three killers were convicted. Two of the perpetrators remain alive, while one was executed in 2011.

Around the time of the murder, Chantal Akerman planned to make a documentary about the American South. She admired the work of William Faulkner and wanted to explore the region. However, when Byrd was murdered, her attention immediately shifted and she chose to focus on his death. The subsequent documentary she made was called Sud (South).

Continue reading “On Chantal Akerman’s South

‘Until Tomorrow’ by Jordan Lucien Pansky

Until Tomorrow


i light a quick cig & have a seat while the rain slowly sets in. a woman begins citing the new words of her god,
the new sunken scripture:

“it’s a new age on planet earth!” before pacing her step & clapping her hands “it’s the eighth day! june tenth, twenty-sixteen. june tenth, twenty-sixteen. i grew up in…”
then she vanishes. Continue reading “‘Until Tomorrow’ by Jordan Lucien Pansky”

4 Poems by Beate Sigriddaughter




I stand tall

like the charred silhouette

of a tree that has lasted

through fire, and

I long for the burn of youth. Continue reading “4 Poems by Beate Sigriddaughter”

3 Poems by Jim Gibson



We grind keys on sandstone sacraments

(names dates loves and was eres)

Territorially recorded, awaiting time’s erosion

Through nights and days this hide away

For anyone escaping

Something Continue reading “3 Poems by Jim Gibson”

3 Poems by Adam Levon Brown

Funeral Of The Inside


My heart died inside

my chest last night


I said my goodbyes

while I carved


its initials in a tree.

I buried the remnants

in a hole


deeper than my regret. Continue reading “3 Poems by Adam Levon Brown”

In By Fire, Tahar Ben Jelloun Tells The Story of the Man Who Sparked the Arab Spring


Every fire begins with a spark, a small flame that ignites a conflagration. Where does that spark originate? No one could have known that when Mohamed Bouazizi set fire to his body on December 17, 2010 his act of self-immolation would trigger protests in Tunisia and throughout the Arab region. He was the spark that lit up the world.

In By Fire: Writings on the Arab Spring, Tahar Ben Jelloun writes about Bouazizi in two distinct ways. In the first part of the book are selections from Ben Jelloun’s nonfiction writings about the Arab Spring. In the second part of the book is Ben Jelloun’s short story “By Fire,” which enters the mind of Bouazizi and attempts to capture the nuances of his life. Both parts are necessary and complement each other. Translator Rita S. Nezami’s notes and introductions do an excellent job of contextualizing Bouazizi’s act of protest and providing much-needed information for Western readers to understand the political climate in Tunisia before the Arab Spring.

Continue reading “In By Fire, Tahar Ben Jelloun Tells The Story of the Man Who Sparked the Arab Spring”

‘Five-Fold Symmetries’ by Liz Zumin

Five-Fold Symmetries


If I present myself to them

What of their measurement and their avoidance?

It is a survival, a learning to live

A pellicle thin as skin on black tea.

Few poets don’t wear the mask. Continue reading “‘Five-Fold Symmetries’ by Liz Zumin”

3 Poems by Antony Owen



“I don’t want peoples’ change mate I want a change for people like me who people like you write poems about that no fucker will read because it makes em feel bad. People want happy endings and I ain’t it”

– Lou, Ring Road, Cov


In full view she slept in shrink-wrap popping like a real fire

And she was, she was a real fire petering out in the ghost grey blitz.

In full view she slept presenting a problem in the Al-Fresco wonderland

It’s not good for business bringing your problems from home into our work? Continue reading “3 Poems by Antony Owen”

4 Poems by Ana Prundaru

Stirred Stillness


I want to put a blanket on the ocean

and line scarecrows to a red-ribonned

trail of open hearts

Continue reading “4 Poems by Ana Prundaru”

We Disturb The Air – an interview with Cindy Savett

It must have been around Summer 2013. I had just had my first collection of poems published. It was the culmination of many years of continuous writing. A searing, intense, daily practice of generating language. I had begun writing in the first instance as a means to save my life, and now I had no room left to contain the word. I was emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted.

It was around this period that I discovered the poetry of Cindy Savett. Continue reading “We Disturb The Air – an interview with Cindy Savett”

2 Poems by Jamie Thrasivoulou

Urban Decay


This is the dark side of town, there’s no glitz and glamour here

Smack-needles and pimps in BMW’s: windows blacked-out,

The cherry of the Spliff shines through the gap like a star

Prostitutes and crack-addicts fight for the same fag-nubs on the floor outside a bar Continue reading “2 Poems by Jamie Thrasivoulou”

‘overheard, at a Pittsburgh bus stop’ by Patrick Thomson

overheard, at a Pittsburgh bus stop


   her voice has the lisp of the tooth-poor or toothless and the soft silver edge of exhaustion, he goin under that bridge there to score with that trick, Rebecca, with the red hair, shes a trick, she doesnt clean her pussy, none ofm do, they all smell like their pussies Continue reading “‘overheard, at a Pittsburgh bus stop’ by Patrick Thomson”

An Interview with Heidi Saman

By chance, I met Heidi Saman on tumblr, where she curates an excellent blog about cinema. Along with working as an associate producer for NPR’s Fresh Air, Saman is also a gifted filmmaker, who just premiered her first feature film, Namour, at the LA Film Festival to rave reviews. Namour explores the existential crisis of an Arab American man working as a valet driver in the aftermath of the 2008 recession. Saman was kind enough to take time out of her hectic schedule of promoting Namour to answer some of my questions. Our conversation touches on various subjects, including racism in Hollywood and Saman’s cinematic inspirations.

Continue reading “An Interview with Heidi Saman”

‘Living With Cancer’ – an essay in five parts by Arathi Devandran

Part 3: ‘The Scare’ 



You know what the worst thing about cancer is? Once you’re touched by the disease, there is no turning back.

It has been four years since Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. Four years since she went through her treatment. Four years of living with cancer, where in one way or another, we are reminded of its viciousness every day.

There is no respite. There is no end. Because from the moment the doctors tell you that you have the disease, it affects every moment of your life thereafter. It becomes a part of you. It is the shadow you can never quite get rid of, the awful feeling in the pit of your stomach that never goes away, the thing that wakes you in the darkest hours of the night, drenching you in cold sweat.

You might think this is only the case for the patient–the person who has been branded with this dreaded disease–but what few people know is that, when cancer touches one life, it touches everyone related to its first victim.

Those things that I wrote above? I go through them too. Cancer has become an indelible part of my life, and I’m not even the one suffering through it. The haunting may be different, but it is no less difficult, no less torturous, to deal with.

A week ago, Mum had a spate of dizzy spells. We didn’t think too much of it. These things happen, and then they go away. But, in her case, the dizzy spells didn’t go away. The alarm bells began ringing, fast and furious.

They did all the tests they could. Dad and I stood by helplessly, watching as she was poked and prodded by needles, wheeled to the X-ray room and then to the MRI scanning theatre.

Hours later, the doctors came and told us they’d found a tumor in her brain. Possibly malignant. Brain cancer.

And then they left us to deal with it. While our world came crashing down, the world outside of that little ward continued at its steady pace.

I think back to that moment – me leaning against a table because my legs had suddenly lost strength, mind racing, trying to figure out how the family was going to get through this again; my father, sitting next to my mother, holding her hand while she cried; and the sound of my mother’s crying, a low keening wail that was coming from a place that seemed so broken, so devoid of hope.

Thinking back on that day, I cannot remember many things. I cannot remember what we talked about after the doctors gave us the news. I cannot remember what we wore, what we ate for lunch – nothing.

But I can remember that single scene, like a tableau etched in a dark corner of my mind, and the sound of my mother’s cry.


They came back into the room again, hours later. Only to tell us that they had looked at her older records from years ago, and that they had spotted this tumor then too. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t a metastasis. It wasn’t cancerous.


Continue reading “‘Living With Cancer’ – an essay in five parts by Arathi Devandran”



Even though Proboscis Pete – a.k.a. The Festival Fly – may look like a fly with his small oval calloused face and wrap-around shades, he only ever sits on good shit. Continue reading “NO FESTIVAL’S COMPLETE WITHOUT DRUGS SUPPLIED BY THE FESTIVAL FLY by Thomas McColl”

2 Poems by Paul Tristram

144 Meadowbank Lane


It was not so much the murder

and amount of body’s there

but the scale of the mutilation

and torture that took place

before the point of death

had actually occurred. Continue reading “2 Poems by Paul Tristram”

2 Poems by Katie Lewington

A passionate and tender love scene between two lovers

Continue reading “2 Poems by Katie Lewington”

Blog at

Up ↑


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 65 other followers

%d bloggers like this: