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Ornate cloud of sharp angle-rife tube and clamp scaffoldBlurs domeLike a JPEG-formatted digital photograph,Heavy compression reducing the natural colour gradations and surface detailsTo illegible posterized scriptNot even the Catalan architect Gaudi could read;Vertical standards like ribs of a corset to bind up the sides of the Capitol Dome,Reinforced horizontallyBy rightContinue Reading

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It sat precisely balanced atop a high concrete curb along the roadside, this perfect loaf of sliced white bread. How astonishing is that? Such an improbable, yet ordinary, place for such a commonplace thing as a loaf of bread.  But this was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill white bread. It was thatContinue Reading

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My mother always tells me, you’ve got to pick your gods.She says this, leaning at a crow’s angle over a cup of coffee,a glass of wine, through the oiled steam of a stir fried dinner; from under the tumble of her quilted bedclothes,voice muffled behind a peeling murder mystery;shouted outContinue Reading

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I live two monthseach sleeping hour. A set of fires burnmy night house. I cover my eyes, slip slowinto coldwater. Carrion birds gatherat the vigilantedge of what I want whenI awaken. It’s never there, ever. I age at the searing speed of light. Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appearedContinue Reading

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Body wrought chasm of derelict errorPitch black prism of deranged terrorMemory lapsed transference of sooty bereavementSatanic messenger sent to gift mind’s diseased rent Spiked baseboards; impale my misty soulMy flooded heart drowns; sheathed knollSalty tears cause the flood to score festering woundsWasted prayers castigate and reflect forgotten tombs Deep diversContinue Reading

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Carella is a poet and digital artist who splits her time between the ethereal world of dreams, and Toronto, Canada, depending on the weather. Her work involves themes of mental health, nature and sexuality, often in a surrealist tone. Carella is the recipient of the Stanley Fefferman Prize in CreativeContinue Reading

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She liked the way I watchedthe redstart work the berryfrom the butcher’s broomand how I quieted my bodywhen the stoat poked itstwitchy whiskers from its den. She liked when Mrs. Trengrousepoked me with her hazel stickwhile I crouched to see the pearlson a fritillary feeding from a thistleso I didn’tContinue Reading

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I pulled aside tightly packed furniture items on the basement floor of my dimly-lit apartment storage area, searching for boxes containing some old family photos. At last, I found them and eventually the one box with the photos I’d been looking for. They all were taken about twenty years beforeContinue Reading

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Whenever Steve visited his brother Benny in Chicago, Benny’s wife Cheryl, who never liked Steve, made him sleep in the attic. They had an extra bedroom, but that belonged to their daughter Barbara who was away at college and insisted that while she was gone, no one be let intoContinue Reading

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got caught on a not so hidden camera his eyes these  two dots & his surface  so white it fought off any light his sound bit- ten off as he tried telling them how he’d gotten   the notebook so he could jot down all he thought were his own thoughtsContinue Reading