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BURNING HOUSE PRESS

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Poetry

Two Poems by Theresa Sullivan

 

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Ruminate

 

When nights steal in I paint

a house filling with water.

 

 I make the exit transparent,

front door gray and ghostly beneath

 

seawater creeping past the baseboards,

sloshing over the table,

Continue reading “Two Poems by Theresa Sullivan”

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Learning to write again – Megan Merchant

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Learning to write again.

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Continue reading “Learning to write again – Megan Merchant”

Three Poems by Judith Roney

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I See My House, My Field

after Marianne Boruch

 

My son lives there now, in his winter

like a husky dog burrows in snow.

 

Most of the rooms (yes, I can see them from Florida)

are muted by cold, and the furniture

 

is still the maple my mother bought the year

she had her affair with my father.

 

Continue reading “Three Poems by Judith Roney”

A Series of Poems by Cynthia Cruz

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DURAS (THE MUTE)

“Writing also means not speaking. Keeping silent.” M.D.,Writing.

 MD is mute. She throws her voice into the text and there, her voice, resides. There, in the book, we hear her screams, we hear her weeping. But alone, in her giant white mansion, she speaks to no one. She paces, endlessly, the only sound, the sound of flies and death emanating from within the cracked walls.

Continue reading “A Series of Poems by Cynthia Cruz”

Two Poems by Lucy Whitehead

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Stasis

I know how to be a beetle stranded on its back,

a moth pinned flat inside a frame, a wildflower

pressed between the pages of a book, a petroglyph,

a fragment of my former self, a rock, a photograph.

Continue reading “Two Poems by Lucy Whitehead”

Two Poems by Nicodemus Nicoludis

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Untitled [Elegy For the Memory of a Relationship]

 

It isn’t the space

the closeness of knowing

somebody so well

we hear their heartbeat

inside ours,

or the aperture of life

squinting one morning at a time,

but I freeze right there,

Continue reading “Two Poems by Nicodemus Nicoludis”

Two Poems by Kristina Bicher

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Lazarus & the Real Boy

 

1. HE WHO IS NOW CALLED LAZARUS

was born a plain boy we

christened STUART

and thus it went

 

             first his brain yellowed then grew

             claws and we

             were sore afraid

Continue reading “Two Poems by Kristina Bicher”

The Artisan’s Defense – Hege Jakobsen Lepri

       The Artisan’s Defense

He’d blame the desert if they ever found him. Golden sunsets were wasted on him, made his eyes dry, clouded his mind. He saw no signs in the horizon, no maps to promised lands. The desert was for prophets, men without a trade, who could do nothing but lift their clumsy hands to the sky and then coil upon the ground, savoring their shortcomings before G-d. Continue reading “The Artisan’s Defense – Hege Jakobsen Lepri”

Water Witching – Jamie Hood

Water Witching

I.

Lend me your ears; I am telling you stories. My cave is empty. I have nothing else to give. There is a mountain in Norway called the Storebalak, where, in March of ’86, an avalanche ate 16 soldiers. This is known as the Vassdalen Incident. Consider the number 16. Consider the numbered dead. This was of 31 of them. Consider the avalanche merciful. Consider I am telling you facts now. Let it be known this is a history. Who Continue reading “Water Witching – Jamie Hood”

Faith Is An Egg With A Thin Shell – Susanna Crossman

Faith Is An Egg With A Thin Shell

Faith is a word I hold in my hand, safe in my palm, enclosed by the nest of my upturned fingers. Take faith to the lips: said, spoken, delivered, a birth of song spills from a secret mouth. If you speak faith, the five letters advance with an F, stridently like a French ‘fanfare’, a lawless, troubadour’s marching band. Then the word melts in the wind of aaaith, an elongated, rushing sound. Faith closes with the delicateness of th. Place the tongue, feather-light, by the teeth. Faith, faith, faith.

Rilke said, “Have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you Continue reading “Faith Is An Egg With A Thin Shell – Susanna Crossman”

Homoerratica 3 (Apologetics) – Joshua Palmer

Homoerratica (Apologetics)

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bhp author photoJoshua Palmer is an artist and writer pursuing an MFA at the University of Pittsburgh, but he is from Texas the way windmills, dirt, and Dairy Queens are from Texas. He is currently doing research for a manuscript about a gay bathhouse fire. His poetry has appeared in SPF LIT MAG, Spectrum Culture, and Popula (forthcoming). You can follow him on twitter @gummybrzpalmer.

Featured photo credit: Amanda Ollinik  @Allunderonemoon

1. Mark Making 2. Mistaking the Parts for the Whole 3. Point of View – Elisa Taber

Mark Making

Tape tacked on a lamp
Post. “I” spray-painted
On someone’s lawn.
A raised book casting
A shadow on the pulpit.

Missing: child
Perplexed by flyer, home-
Owner, priest. Continue reading “1. Mark Making 2. Mistaking the Parts for the Whole 3. Point of View – Elisa Taber”

1. Lucidity At The Edge Of The Abyss 2. Afterlife Of Battered – Bobbi Lurie

Lucidity At The Edge Of The Abyss

his father brought him to me in his arms and i said
“forget those doctors my friend take this clay in your hand and your hand
will move again”
and it did (his hand did move again) (doctors said there was no chance) (what force gave me the nerve to say)(same force that gives me this day cancer leaping through this body as it is all laws pale to insignificance)
death is my friend take me any time says i Continue reading “1. Lucidity At The Edge Of The Abyss 2. Afterlife Of Battered – Bobbi Lurie”

1. Preachers On The Street, and 2. Burning In Crowded Places – DS Maolalai

Preachers On The Street

the thing is
at least
they have guts enough
to believe in something.
it takes
courage
to go that far;
standing on a streetcorner
screaming at strangers. Continue reading “1. Preachers On The Street, and 2. Burning In Crowded Places – DS Maolalai”

Music Number Four: Talus Deposits – Robert Frederic Kenter

Music Number Four: Talus Deposits

1.
When grandmother died, mother turned off the lights. From a high rise I see across harbours. Veins on your nose. A snapped rose.
This is a scree.

 

2.
The roads are filled with transistor radios. Playing Springsteen songs. Here comes the night: American neo-troubadour melodies.

 

3.
the funeral, of course, took place after Friday night Sabbath. Continue reading “Music Number Four: Talus Deposits – Robert Frederic Kenter”

The 5th C – ReVerse Butcher and Kylie Supski

The 5th C

 

 

 

Continue reading “The 5th C – ReVerse Butcher and Kylie Supski”

1. Testimonies 2. When the Rainbow Falls from the Sky 3. How Things Look Back – Ifeoluwa Ayandele

Testimonies

I am a stranger in this place
& grief’s white teeth leave
its bite marks on my skin:

the relic of a child left in the
cold hand of an estranged city,
alone. I am a stranger in this city

& family dinner table is a strange Continue reading “1. Testimonies 2. When the Rainbow Falls from the Sky 3. How Things Look Back – Ifeoluwa Ayandele”

When the Show Must Go On – Trina Young

When the Show Must Go On

my magic sparks
but doesn’t light

it is not so
effervescent

your smile spreads
pretty, mine splits

a parlor trick
halving myself

you pull a dove Continue reading “When the Show Must Go On – Trina Young”

‘Daughter-Seed’ by Arielle Tipa – reviewed by Miggy Angel

i am full of children i do not want

If every girl/daughter is a seed, what will that seed become? What plume, bloom, or vegetation?

muck-in-my-gut // ghost-white and beloved // give me a disregard for neighbors and sirens

Maybe it’s true, that “the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree.” That the seed of her being is a blue-bell blueprint, genesis of genes, traumatic histories and memories mapping destinies predestined, societal soldering of gender-norms, which she inherits. Continue reading “‘Daughter-Seed’ by Arielle Tipa – reviewed by Miggy Angel”

1. The Easter Sunday my Faith Strayed, and 2. Lost and Found Still Lost – Carrie Danaher Hoyt

The Easter Sunday My Faith Strayed

A thurible swung solemnly
voices sang for risen King
and sweet incense was billowing.

Prayers of the Faithful asked
help for Syria,
comfort for their suffering.

As I spoke, “Lord, hear our prayer,”
the holy smoke
grew strangling. Continue reading “1. The Easter Sunday my Faith Strayed, and 2. Lost and Found Still Lost – Carrie Danaher Hoyt”

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