CURATORS by Amitrajit Raajan



Un giorno come nessun altro…e cio’

che accade non si ripeterà mai più.


Was it by parallactic need,

one September morning, one day,

with the Totnesian summer gone

rapidly like untraceable light,

that Sandie and Paul found out

that whether they were on the road

or the paving, they were still

leading, heading, to be in different

places, states, simultaneously–

the Curator Store of vintage fashion,

books, and art; the Curator Café

of artisan, wood roasted, coffee,

featuring Italian food heroes?

How did they calculate, deliberate, and

measure out possible ways and means of

dissolving the bitterness of an americano?


E’ arrivato il grande giorno.

L’avevamo aspettato tanto.


Amitrajit Raajan


Amtrajit Raajan is a non-noteable, Lincolnshire-born, artist living in Devon, writing about local cafes.


Three Woodcut Prints by Loren Kantor



Hunter Thompson



Loren Kantor is a Los Angeles-based Woodcut Artist who carves original woodcut prints inspired by his favorite cultural figures.

The Phantom Museum by Howie Good



Despite the time of day, night seems to be falling. America’s most famous serial killers howl like Siberian wolves. There’s nobody there who knows CPR, & it’s too hot to go for help. The heat has the small, hooded eyes of Joan of Arc’s inquisitor. She’s sitting by herself at a table in the corner, hands covering her face.



The gendarmes approach with dicks hanging out. A century before, Van Gogh was locked up in the madhouse for touching the local women. The street where it happened has been restored. Tell everybody – all business is piracy.



On a Friday in August, Christopher Columbus sailed west into the unknown. His country was the future. Now we know that no revolution can achieve what evolution can’t. Just give me a flashlight & a drawstring bag, & leave a car in the parking lot unlocked, & when I’m done rummaging, let me slip away like water, a silver bracelet with blue stones.


Howie Good


Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of five poetry collections, most recently Cryptic Endearments from Knives Forks & Spoons Press.

Piranha and Bungle by Joseph Dorazio



A partial list

of pariahs

surely includes



like Adam

& Eve. The

latter bobs

for apples,

the former for

bodies & bones.


for Charlotte





Intent on making a fly,

God began to multi-task

and set to work on man.


But things went awry. Man

was supposed to get

the wings


and the compound eyes, but

got instead intellect—

the proboscis he inserts


in regurgitated matter,

while fly vomits bliss

and dies within an hour.


Joseph Dorazio


Joseph Dorazio’s poems have appeared widely in print and online.  Mr. Dorazio lives and writes in Wayne, Pennsylvania.

She Speaks of their Wondrous Transformation and Peculiar Nourishment from Flowers by Alyse Bensel

She Speaks of their Wondrous Transformation and Peculiar Nourishment from Flowers

Maria Sibylla Merian (1647-1717)


Not from sludge but from the chrysalis—

winged butterflies, powder-white moths emerge.

Fuzzed or silky caterpillars wrap themselves,

spun to metamorphosis. Johann watches me sketch

the rings and lines of butterfly and caterpillar circling

host plant, which I fill with yellows, greens, oranges.

How lovely to crouch in dirt, to feel the ridges

of an eye spinner as it feasts on a coral tree.

These transformations beat like wings on my heart

when I render it as an imprint in each new book.

The children love muddying their day clothes as I collect more

for the studio, for another collection. I know

the priests must have made an honest

mistake to think such a thing could sprout

not from budding, translucent blue but from mud.


Alyse Bensel


A native of York, PA, Alyse Bensel is the author of the chapbook Shift published by Plan B Press. She received her MFA in poetry from Penn State in 2012 and her poetry has appeared in Cider Press Review, MAYDAY Magazine, and Word Riot, among others. 

Yoke by Asher Pelegy



“The sun came up and I didn’t want to die anymore. Want a Corona?” ~ The Messenger


You said your favorite color is gray.

The following morning we realized:

I am ruddy and they are all blind.


Asher Pelegy


Asher Pelegy is a Micro Poet who resides upstate.

Crosses by Luka Fisher

Crosses 300
Luka Fisher is a Los Angeles based painter known for his frequent collaborations, mixed media projects, and work with musicians. He has designed forthcoming releases for LA based bands Feral Kizzy and Death Hymn Number 9. His work was also featured in Feral Kizzy’s latest music “22 A Month” which you can view here—
Luke has also collaborated with a wide range of artists, writers and photographers including—Dash Hobbeheydar, Brian Pulido, Kizzy Kirk, and Tate Hemlock.
 His work has been shown in Los Angeles, Detroit, Phoenix and is held in private collections in the United States and Russia.
Luka began drawing and painting while studying Russian literature in St. Petersburg, Russia.
More of his work can be viewed here and here

Lovers in Winter by Stella V. Radulescu

Lovers in Winter


Black waves are Winter waves

the green came later

with a splash


of light


our eyes bigger & bigger we were

lovers in Winter growing



with the wind


We are humans in Spring pink

and blue bodies

beaches turning to dreams—


Stay tuned


colors may change God was




poisoning red


Stella V. Radulescu


Stella Vinitchi Radulescu is the author of several collections of poetry published in the United States, France and Romania. Her last collection was recently published in France by the Parisian press L’Harmattan.

Love Song to Blues by Andrew Hemmert

Love Song to Blues


It is important to remember

the blues note is an imperfection.

It sits between right and right, it is out

of key. It is important to remember

the blues note is not an imperfection.

It is color, it covers melody

with brine, ocean weeds, covers floating wood

with electric jelly. It is good enough

for leaving, for longing, for serenading

Beelzebub with nickel string flowers

and candied starfish in jars without hearts

or minds or eyes. Feel it. It is not something

you can hear, after all

the trees die from soaking their roots

in salt blood, in desperation. Chromatics come

from wild earth. Listen to the world,

it radiates dissonance. Acorns fall

and rattle off branches like tone deaf pianos.

The blues note accepts water

in lungs, if it is true. It swallows sorrow like air.

It interjects, it follows bees and rivers

to continent edges, it kneels on knives

and shells and rocks and it is important

to remember the incisions

on its legs, on its atria, do not deserve

to be stitched and perfect. When it tries

to fix itself with alcohol, with platelets,

forbid it.


Andrew Hemmert


Andrew Hemmert is a sixth-generation Florida native, and Florida’s leaked into his work on more than one occasion.

I’ve Seen The Creeper by Kendall Sharpe

I’ve Seen The Creeper
The shadow creature
who walks
or crawls
on the walls
I’ve heard the whisper
a dirge, fleeting
through static
like hands on my chest
I’ve seen The Creeper
A solitary light


Kendall Sharpe


Kendall Sharpe is a 21 year old English major deeply rooted in the Philadelphia music scene.