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Some people are unlikeablebefore they die.I am waiting for someto go ahead.Then I buy their book,read their poemsand like them.I guess I should say writers.But I don’t mean my friend in texasor that one pretty branchlike girl in new york.I don’t mean you—I mean the men and womenwhose books IContinue Reading

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a found poem, after Giannina Braschi Madmen fear no moon, fear no fire. Burns of flesh are poetry. Madmen’s wounds are poetry. Salt is for fish, salt is for death, the poem is not among the dead. Remember, but don’t write it. sleepwalker among cats, thief among dogs, man amongContinue Reading

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Only in that sunless realm between asleep and awakeWill I find you, the shell of my former self, crumpled andLifeless, huddled in the darkest corner, two tattered wingsSprouting from shriveled flesh, cracked and splinteredLike the decaying skin of a porcelain doll left forgotten. I watch as you gracefully unfurl thoseContinue Reading

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Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appeared in Steam Ticket, Cimarron Review, Evening Street Review, Dissident Voice, and Blueline Magazine, among others. Having authored four chapbooks, her full-length volume is forthcoming from Fernwood Press. She has been twice nominated for both Best of the Net and a Pushcart prize. SheContinue Reading

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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