In Memory of Michael Pingarron and Paul Gleason Continue reading
This issue is for Flea Market Vendors everywhere & for anyone who has ever been broke. Continue reading
This is an opportunity.
What’s our message?
Too many messages!
A little message won’t hurt…
Let us loiter together
& know one another…
by Harry Partch Continue reading
William Carlos Williams wrote of Alfred Kreymborg: “Crude symbolism is to associate emotions with natural phenomena such as anger with lightning, flowers with love it goes further and associates certain textures with. Such work is empty. It is typical of almost all that is done by the writers who fill the pages every month of such a paper as. Everything that I have done in the past – except those parts which may be called excellent – by chance, have that quality about them. It is typified by use of the word “like” or that “evocation” of the “image” which served us for a time. Its abuse is apparent. The insignificant “image” ma be “evoked” never so ably and still mean nothing. With all his faults Alfred Kreymborg never did this. That is why his work – escaping a common fault – still has value and will tomorrow have more (Spring and All).” Continue reading
The inspiration for this Laundromat-themed issue came from David Cope’s poem As the dryers rolled. I had 3 of my own laundromat poems & figured it’d be a good idea for a collection. —David Roskos Continue reading
Matt is neither a leftist nor a reactionary neither a street poet nor an academic. He is a great American crank, in the best tradition of W.C. Fields, Groucho Marx, Charles Ives, Hugh Selby, Algren…someone truly outside the establishment, including the anti-establishment. Matt Borkowski can not be read in comfort by either the right of the left. He is an ontologist of the dispossessed, the fucked up and broken beyond all class distinctions and political lines. — Joe Weil Continue reading
“Inclusion is always an option.” Beth Borrus said that.
“I urge you all to make magazines.” I said that. Continue reading
I don’t remember the reason we sat in front of Rite Aid that night. Someone needed a prescription filled. I do remember my mom banging her paims on the steering wheel, Asking, “Why did you ever become a writer?” “I don’t know mom. it was you and dad that bought me a desk for Christmas.” “That’s because your 6th grade teacher told us you had potential to be a professional writer. Not poetry, music and that other stuff.” She was visibly angry at the situation which brought us together. We were picking up pills for her husband Bob I now remember. It was the eve of his disappearance. Entering one hospital after another. Finally – allowed to rest – we surrounded Bob with the Lord’s Prayer. Such remembrance strangely triggered by a Leonard Cohen self-portrait – A drawing of his face – left lobe opened – in which he scrawled:
I never found the girl
I never got rich
– John Lunar Richey Continue reading
In Memory of my Sister Mary Beth Roskos & of our friend & fellow poet Dave Church, a pure product of America. Front a back cover photos by Donald Eng. Other photos found at flea market. —David Roskos Continue reading