Acerbic writing style. I had the weirdest reaction when I read the following flash fiction. It was like eating an aged-cheese omelet with balsamic vinegar — tasted weird, but in a good way. Anyway, I kept eating (re-reading). By Iris N. Schwartz Gone one week. This was my neighborhood ─ but wasn’t. Sniffed sautéed emu. […]

Don’t stain her collar, Burgundy Lip Balm #4769, Mass-produced For discerning eyes And open invitations… RSVP Nude shadows Beg her to crawl over coals, But she’ll take you down Below the drop-off. Slip, Slide, Into thermal baths. Obey thick need– He slithers through Quivering Primordial jet streams And steals into Her panic room (Thieves mock […]

Elsa discovered a pocket of warped metal in the midst of scouring the kitchen sink with a Brillo pad that resembled Mr. Turgid’s afro.

They don’t take laughter like they take shots of Stoli on a humid Saturday night in the middle of a martini bar that charges ten times the cost of manufacturing. Garments too loose (or just tight enough) stick to their ribs like Dum-Dum wrappers to melted lollipops in cherry, root beer, or mystery flavors. Their […]

Hereafter, Helena, Take your wards into charge; Thresh through sodden persiflage Under wing, From necks wringed dry Of dignity — Meek merciless wretches Who suffer daily, Demeaned by Meaningless cruelty, Actuated by religious reminders Of humankind’s merits: “Less than the sum of an ocean,” (More than the addition of compulsion) So claim the gods who […]

Originally posted on keithgarrettpoetry:
I WALK ALONE Never am I alone, I am a man whom walks alone, On my own, through the streets, a path I choose. Step by step it is my shoes that take me away, These feet move fast and far along the road. My thoughts are my companion as I…

I have loved every version of her.

Dear Snake-in-Disguise, Mr. “I Got The Fire,” Sir Knows-a-Lot, Professor Pick-Up Artist, aka The Guy Who Raped My Mouth Last Night, I knew what you were from the start but I ignored my gut. “Excuse me, haven’t we met before?” You were so handsome, but I could see you wanted to use me, and that […]

You have no right to feel me up in the midst of a crowd.

It’s cupped in my palm and twitching.

Whether flesh or fantasy, she is a stirring muse for poet Jason Youngman. Her tongue firm yet silky pressing against my flesh Moisture, soft and tenacious Longing the forgotten touch Her soothing seductive sighs Creeping up my back as goose bumps tingle And spread ecstasy all over my nakedness The ocean waves are crashing against […]

Paint my inner canvas With your long-handled brush The color you taste On the tip of your tongue: My name. “Paint” © Jane Bled 2016-2017 *** Are you the canvas or the brush? ❤ Jane

As I enter Melodie’s orbit, I pretend not to recognize her; avoiding admittance to an acute tug of arousal that rings like a dinner bell when she flicks her lost-girl gaze over the hardened planes of my time-worn face. She yawns into a lazy stretch, revealing a naturally tan abdomen. Underarm hair grazes her paisley […]

True story: last night I had the pleasure of meeting Nicholas, a zany, oddly charming patron of the bar I like to use as my writing space when I’m granted late-night alone time. A bespectacled bearded blond man approached me as I scribbled my latest poem. In a voice hoarsened by his latest shenanigans at […]

It wasn’t my middle name that hushed his heaving grief — it was your piece of store-bought cake, topped with sprinkled pansies trapped within pewter pebbles bearing a strong resemblance to sculpted bubbles. The Indian-style headdress accessorizing your hand-beaded gown accented your hazel eyes, golden in the campfire. Levitating lanterns lit his way inside their […]

Often the arts can go unrecognized as a valid life path for a young person, but you just have to look to who the people are that are revitalizing our Indigenous communities and you will see artists at the forefront. Artist and mentor Francine Cunningham reflects on her experience providing encouragement in overcoming obstacles that […]

My god does not reside above the steeples of kakistocracy.

She looks just like you.

Grief, deeply felt.

Breastfed on the placebo effect.

Reading about the trials and tribulations of other writers and their “babies” either irritates or inspires me. I discovered the following article about one writer’s rocky journey towards self-publishing when I was in a good humor; I found author Nancy Hitler’s honesty most invigorating. Bonus: she’s a hoot.  I published my latest book in March. […]