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- Warriors, by Thato Angela Chuma
- who have built homes / in broken wombs
- Raw Honey, by Sara Norja
- Now, you say, he becomes a bear.
- Rust, by Kythryne Aisling
- your tears will etch lines of rust around your eyes— / do not polish them away
- You Are Here, by Bogi Takács
- With each moment, the baseline of your memories shifts
- Podcast: November Poetry, by Jane Crowley, Erik Amundsen, Rose Lemberg, Valya Dudycz Lupescu, and Bogi Takács, read by Romie Stott, Ciro Faienza, Valya Dudycz Lupescu, and Julia Rios
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, guest editor Ciro Faienza presents poetry from the November issues.
- The Mermaid of Lincoln Park Lagoon, by Valya Dudycz Lupescu
- Mine is not a beautiful hunger.
- The rivers, the birchgroves, all the receding earth, by Rose Lemberg
- my hare-heavy boat tilting into summer / all the way to the dry shore and the joyful leap
- Salamander Song, by Rose Lemberg and Emily Jiang
- my body burnished scales, a shawl of sparks over a story I have never told.
- Brass, by Erik Amundsen
- We should find a heaven / and if it isn't, a city of brass
- Incendiaries, by Jane Crowley
- the window closed, the sheets too close
- Seeds, by M Sereno
- I am afraid of forests. I do not know why / the pineapple has a thousand eyes.
- Podcast: September/October Poetry, by Eric Otto, Yoon Ha Lee, Pamela Manasco, Saira Ali, Catherine Butler, Penny Stirling, and M Sereno, read by Anaea Lay, Ciro Faienza, Emily Jiang, Romie Stott, Julia Rios, and M Sereno
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, guest editor Ciro Faienza presents poetry from the September and October issues.
- Cloud Wall, by Arkady Martine
- It was the new year / and you were hardly human yourself
- Even Robots Learn, by Penny Stirling
- No, not aromatic. No, just single, not single-cell.
- Plato's Orpheus, by Catherine Butler
- Thus I saw you tread before, more shade than man
- Gorgon Girls, by Saira Ali
- There is nothing more monstrous in our gaze than a mirror.
- The Daemon Lover, by Pamela Manasco
- How those bows tackled under like ice.
- Sea-Sweet, by Yoon Ha Lee
- I bit you down / to bones
- Used, by Eric Otto
- metal body a metal body
- A Pantheon of Madnesses, by Cory O'Brien
- There are no leaves. There are only flies. And they notice you, noticing them.
- Podcast: August Poetry, by Lisa Bellam, Jessy Randall, Charles Bane, Jr., and Cory O'Brien, read by Ciro Faienza, Julia Rios, Diane Severson Mori, and Cory O'Brien
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the August issues.
- A Universe Collided, by Charles Bane, Jr.
- such play as / spawn or beer on working / days, or mouth to mouth
- Helmets of the Future, by Jessy Randall
- indoor helmet / outdoor helmet
- Note to the Caretaker, by Lisa Bellamy
- in our absence, please negotiate a final settlement with the mole
- VIMVIMRECOIL, by Heather Knox
- It's said she gave birth to the pigs but she couldn't because her husband didn't die until she became a witch until the sea
- Podcast: July Poetry, by Randi Anderson, Bogi Takács, Juan Martínez, Leslianne Wilder, and Heather Knox, read by Randi Anderson, Bogi Takács, Julia Rios, Anaea Lay, and Amelia June
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the issues.
- Grandmother, by Leslianne Wilder
- We hadn't disliked the grandmother we'd had / But she was a wolf now
- Metamorphosis, by Juan Martínez
- Then the hallway / turned into / a car
- A Self-Contained Riot of Lights, by Bogi Takács
- I reach into my nose and pull out a rainbow tapeworm / as a token of goodbye
- La Muerte, by Randi Anderson
- The mountain watches me, / the mountain trembles up and down
- Two Children, by Tendai Rinos Mwanaka
- It is the / shadow I have always thought is in the rooms
- Podcast: June Poetry, by Salik Shah, Zella Christensen, Laura W. Allen, and Tendai Rinos Mwanaka, read by Angelle Haney Gullett, Ciro Faienza, Julia Rios, and Tendai Rinos Mwanaka
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the June issues.
- Hierarch, by Laura W. Allen
- that old disdain, like a mourning suit or a coronet
- In Cellars, Monsters, by Zella Christensen
- so many hearts I can't tell which are yours
- Straw-Fitted Elephants, by Salik Shah
- Twenty-five centuries of space / and time trapped inside a library
- We Saw No Signs of Life, by Ting Gou
- Purest thermodynamics, / they fall when cold, rise when warm, / buoyant as algae.
- Podcast: May Poetry, by Ruth Jenkins, Gillian Daniels, Charis M. Ellison, and Ting Gou, read by Kat Mandeville, Gillian Daniels, Charis M. Ellison, and Ting Gou
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the May issues.
- Red, by Charis M. Ellison
- Didn't our mother tell us not to talk to strangers? / but we enter anyway / into the smell of iron.
- The Liar's Charm, by Gillian Daniels
- Start small. / Tell him he is beautiful. / Tell her she is brave.
- Spent, by Ruth Jenkins
- There'll be the man at the gate. / Stand back, he'll say. / There's nothing to see.
- Transformations, by Kate Conover
- Podcast: April Poetry, by Wendy A. Howe, Boudreau Freret, Alex Dally MacFarlane, Neile Graham, and Kate Conover, read by Wendy A. Howe, Boudreau Freret, Amal El-Mohtar, Neile Graham, and Kate Conover
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the issues.
- The God of Lost Things, by Neile Graham
- But vain hours later I'm inventing prayers of smoke and mirrors
- Her Sun-patterned Eye, by Alex Dally MacFarlane
- no foundation texts inscribed on her tall body / only her collar-bones in Shahr-e Sukhteh's dry ground
- 1991, What I Wanted, by Boudreau Freret
- to reassemble / the pieces
- The Ghosts of Occupation, by Wendy A. Howe
- I dream of women who vow / to keep their fire baskets full
- Litany of the Family Bean, by Gemma Files
- God's gift. Quotidian bounty / of salt-cold sand and tide
- Podcast: March Poetry, by Sandi Leibowitz, Liz Bourke, Francesca Forrest, and Gemma Files, read by Sandi Leibowitz, Liz Bourke, Ciro Faienza, and Sonya Taaffe
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the March issues.
- The Peal Divers, by Francesca Forrest
- They come for the glossolalia / Of the tongueless bells
- True History, by Liz Bourke
- You say all these lies are mine?
- Fat Women, by Sandi Leibowitz
- They have no hands. / They do no work
- Ex Machina, by Natalia Theodoridou
- Tonight, we are [Ajax]. We die of pride by the sea.
- On an Iranian Goblet, 5,000 Years Old, by Alicia Cole
- the first green of raw / almonds
- Disturbance, by Jude Alford
- In dust-masks and coveralls, rustling, crouched / in your white forensic tent
- Ekphrastic 22/The Drowning Girl, by Jenn Grunigen
- I found seashells in my cereal this morning
- The Paper Boy, by Mike Allen
- dead teen folded on the tiny back seat
- Food Diary of Gark the Troll, by Jessy Randall
- breakfast: 70 boxes granola (no raisins)
- Una Canción de Keys, by Lisa M. Bradley
- "Cactus?" Abby shrieks. / "This isn't going to be like that weird salad, is it?"
- Rehearsal for When He Wakes, by Anne Carly Abad
- They say you will be different, / having gone through death / before preservation
- The Rotten Leaf Cantata, by Rose Lemberg
- I have never owned a crowbar.
- Rebel, by Danielle Higgins
- I hold a star in my eye and a pistol in my hand.
- Podcast: February Poetry Part 1, by John Philip Johnson, Peter Chiykowski, Susan Carlson, Natalia Theodoridou, Alicia Cole, and Amal El-Mohtar, read by Diane Severson Mori, Peter Chiykowski, Kristopher Goorhuis, Kate Baker, Ciro Faienza, and Amal El-Mohtar
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the February issues of Strange Horizons.
- Podcast: February Poetry Part 2, by Jenn Grunigen, Mike Allen, Jessy Randall, Lisa M. Bradley, Anne Carly Abad, Rose Lemberg, and Danielle Higgins, read by Jenn Grunigen, Mike Allen, Tina Connolly, Lisa M. Bradley, Ciro Faienza, Julia Rios, Rose Lemberg, and Clare McBride
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the February issues of Strange Horizons.
- From the Record, by Susan Carlson
- We are proud of the / real we have achieved.
- A Spell for Rebuilding Your Lover Out of Snow, by Peter Chiykowski
- I thought, There’s a trick to this, / finding your lover / in the record of his step
- After the Changeling Incantation, by John Philip Johnson
- some reason to be a goose / other than just gooseness
- Roman Shade, by April Grant
- There is no sound. It's drawing toward us in a wave; / blackness is putting out the stars of fire.
- Podcast: January Poetry, by Mari Ness, Stacie Taylor, Sharon Kretz, and April Grant, read by Julia Rios, Anaea Lay, Ciro Faienza, and Dennis M. Lane
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the January issues.
- Architect, by Sharon Kretz
- My eyes grow tired of this shore. The air— / too much broom, apple, and dust.
- Dermatoglyphics, by Stacie Taylor
- Later, syntax clogged and clotted, / wrecked my clean lines, pulsed / on the page distinct as inkblots.
- The Restoration of Youth, by Mari Ness
- He gives me sweets, / the young girl said, / her eyes watching the ground.
- Power Men, by Jenny Blackford
- sharp-pointed skeletons of ancient geometric trolls
- Podcast: December Poetry, by Selkie D'Isa, Liz Bourke, and Jenny Blackford, read by Julia Rios, Liz Bourke, and Ciro Faienza
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the December issues.
- Manteia, Katabasis, by Liz Bourke
- I dreamed of Sappho first / forgot all after, thirsting / for the poem she would become
- Artifacts in the Lens, by Selkie D'Isa
- the camera loves / the butterfly she seems, in motion always, / bright, escaping reach
- Datafall, by Richard Larson
- near the village. / Old solar laptops, out of hiding
- Podcast: November Poetry, by Stefanie Maclin, C. W. Johnson, Dominik Parisien, and Richard Larson, read by Julia Rios and Anaea Lay
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the November issues of Strange Horizons.
- Sand Bags, by Dominik Parisien
- the hole is a universe deep / and she is falling down fracturing
- What the Higgs Boson Means to Me, by C. W. Johnson
- specks of data like locusts
- Counterpart, by Stefanie Maclin
- We were all once you, / they confide, peering over the edge / of the dawn.
- Memento Mori, by Richard Prins
- Life is stiller this way.
- Podcast: October Poetry, by Shweta Narayan, Marchell Dyon, Margarita Tenser, April Grant, and Richard Prins, read by Shweta Narayan, Julia Rios, Ciro Faienza, April Grant, and Richard Prins
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the October issues of Strange Horizons.
- Ivy, by April Grant
- Nowhere in Cambridge was there solid earth.
- Slouching Towards the Garden, by Margarita Tenser
- My name an apple split in thirds, / inverted, honeycombed.
- How a Mermaid spends her winters, by Marchell Dyon
- They eat the fins with butter; it tastes like lobster.
- Tatakai, by Shweta Narayan
- mantras couldn't (sri rama rama rameti) shape me to match / the movies
- Podcast: Poetry from the Strange Horizons 2013 Fund Drive, by Dominik Parisien and Bryan Thao Worra, read by Ciro Faienza and Julia Rios
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the 2013 Fund Drive and hosts a round table discussion with fellow podcast readers Julia Rios and Ciro Faienza.
- Full Metal Hanuman, by Bryan Thao Worra, illustration by Nor Sanavongsay
- In the future, true havoc needs more / Than a mere dog for war.
- The Loss, by Mari Ness
- the constant tending, / the endless preening, the heart-loss / of each and every feather-fall
- Podcast: September Poetry, by Mat Joiner, Jane Crowley, Samuel Mukete Oreh, and Mari Ness
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the September issues of Strange Horizons.
- When Ever Young, by Mukete Samuel Oreh
- Where there are tall buildings and many / Cars, the young call it the fertile jungle
- Triptych, by Jane Crowley
- deer-hide kisses and blood in your teeth, / the thrill of the chase and stakes set steep
- I Am Learning to Forget, by Dominik Parisien
- their forked tongues can translate / days into nights, nights into days
- And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, by Mat Joiner
- All deeps invert; / tides at last divorce the moon
- St. Patrick and the Snakes, by Jane Yolen
- He tells them to shut their cake-holes, / stop hissing and pissing about the ride.
- Podcast: August Poetry, by Lynette Mejía, Andrew Brenza, John W. Sexton, Laura Madeline Wiseman, and Jane Yolen
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the August issues of Strange Horizons.
- Abduction, by Laura Madeline Wiseman
- the Midwestern winter / gone at a push of a button
- All That Her Mother Left Her, by John W. Sexton
- a single gray pillowslip / made from sleet
- my father as a sonnet on the human meaning of inhuman stars, by Andrew Brenza
- later you were opened to sight
- A Modern Prometheus, by Lynette Mejía
- My predecessors, / being men, / were far too rough.
- Reflections En Route to Orion Nebula, by Erik Goranson
- The last kiss behind / helmet visor, gleam of top-heavy head
- Podcast: July Poetry, by Sara Norja, Jennifer Ruth Jackson, Theodore Kanbe and Erik Goranson
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the July issues of Strange Horizons.
- Marceline (Adventure Time), by Theodore Kanbe
- Although you float above the ground, you still laugh and / Write the heaviest songs
- Castle Csejthe (Bathory), by Jennifer Ruth Jackson
- Six hundred fell by her hand, she who loved me.
- Wolf Daughter, by Sara Norja
- When you found Marjatta, throat torn, / your keening chilled my heart.
- Air on a G String, by Jude Cowan Montague
- She designed labels showing cigarillos / exploited in most unusual ways
- Podcast: June Poetry, by Stella Nickerson, Adriana Tosun, Alicia Cole, and Jude Cowan Montague
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the June issues of Strange Horizons.
- Once, I Was a Mermaid, by Alicia Cole
- Often, / I see a dark fedora tumbling past me / to break against thewaves.
- Maidenhead, by Adriana Tosun
- fall with me to the loam, / and together we will lose what / history knows nothing of
- Again, Pygmalion, by Stella Nickerson
- she made a man of cardboard and children's salt clay, / pressed in two green pennies for his eyes
- And the War is Never Over, by Shira Lipkin
- I've taken hits for all of us for years; / haven't I?
- Podcast: May Poetry, by Jane Tolmie, Perry Rath, Cassandra de Alba, Qyn and Shira Lipkin read by Julia Rios, Cassandra de Alba, Ciro Faienza and Anaea Lay
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the May issues of Strange Horizons.
- Ophelia, by Qyn
- From here she thinks she sees / the ghost of her mother, / mouthing silence like / some great and beautiful fish.
- the houses of girl-ghosts, by Cassandra de Alba
- altars everywhere: pyrite, half-melted candles, music boxes / missingteeth.
- Book of Vole (Excerpts), by Jane Tolmie and Perry Rath
- Literature is open to everybody, / even pests.
- That Sonnet Is a Fragment (Anagrammatic) of Constellation, by Sophie Mayer
- walls fall, nightmare / papier maché melts to let in something stranger
- Three Visions Seen from Upside-Down, by Alexandra Seidel
- But she has one Nourn eye / and it does never sleep
- Podcast: April Poetry, by Jenn Grunigen, Bryan D. Dietrich, Robert Frazier and Alexandra Seidel, with Ciro Faienza and Julia Rios as additional readers
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the April issues of Strange Horizons.
- The Mutant Forests of Mars, by Robert Frazier
- But on the terraformed red dirt plains of Mars / Historical references are lost on the colonists
- The Monster Learns How to Read, by Bryan D. Dietrich
- he had an eye for it, death, for knowing / what chains meant, and fairies, and fire
- Tattertongue, by Jenn Grunigen
- What did you see? / birch bark, ribs— / Did you cry? / salt cod—
- Origin, by Heather Sommer
- What of the squid? (Ink in drams.) / The starfish? (Constellation compassed.)
- Podcast: March Poetry, by read by Anaea Lay
- In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the March issues of Strange Horizons.
- Schrödinger's Tree, by Madeline Sebastian Burtenshaw
- There is no shade in summer, / no autumn nut-gathering.
- Bang, by Stefon Mears
- Maybe then the Buddha / would come and save me from the zombies.
- A Glance Across the Ballroom, by Ada Hoffmann
- More birds peck at your eyes / than ever flocked round a cinder bed.
- The Haunting of Delphi, by Darja Malcolm-Clarke
- it's for me / that each girl, each crone / casts aside the Bright One
- February Poetry, by Alex Dally MacFarlane, Amal El-Mohtar, Nancy Hightower and Darja Malcolm-Clarke, read by Anaea Lay, Julia Rios and Amal El-Mohtar
- This week's podcast features the poetry from the February issues of Strange Horizons.
- Jael, by Nancy Hightower
- his mother, far away, / felt the breeze of my hand as it came down.
- Lost, by Amal El-Mohtar
- a pillow of moss, a bed of leaves, / a presence out of absence.
- Tadi, by Alex Dally MacFarlane
- a woman in a bird-mask, / a man in a bird-mask, / dancing across the chive-sweet land
- Straw Man, by Sandi Leibowitz
- Don't use me long, / expect too much, / for I'm light-of-mind, / a harum-scarum fellow
- Podcast: January Poetry, by Lisa Bao, Karen Weyant, Crystal Hoffman and Sandi Leibowitz read by Julia Rios, Anaea Lay, and Ciro Faienza
- Don't use me long, / expect too much, / for I'm light-of-mind, / a harum-scarum fellow
- Heat and Sainthood, by Crystal Hoffman
- Dragons were not quite so fearsome then, / their fire breath keeping stories soft / like an ironworker's blast furnace.
- Watching for Aliens over the Allegheny, by Karen Weyant
- When she looked for their tracks, / she could only find pawprints of a large dog.
- In the Courts of the Khan, by Lisa Bao
- songbirds will sing to / a spring river falling / through the forest's hair.
- Fairy Beekeeper, by Adrienne J. Odasso
- You did not know me / from either inhabitant of Eden
- End Times, by Sarah Terry
- Fairly certain, yes, end times. / Yes, and somehow somewhat anticlimactic.
- The Beetle Horde, by James Valvis
- Ah, the beetles, / this planet's dominant species, / six feet in height when standing upright.
- The Gardener's Theory of Cultivation, by Garrett Ashley
- We open our skulls, pull out the emptiness / Where a brain should be, / Fill the dark cavity with thick, slick dirt.
- The Three Immigrations, by Rose Lemberg
- and I learned / to speak; made up three languages to hide in
- Machine Guns Loaded with Pomegranate Seeds, by Mike Allen
- A thousand Persephones lie bleeding in the Lethe
- Tamar, by Nancy Hightower
- still, i plan to take the lion by the mane / and wrestle him till dawn
- The Murder of Dionysos, by Florence Major
- The wine spills burning, firebirds / fly from my cup.
- The Architect of Snow, by Michele Bannister
- origami-intricate flowers of fractal petals / blooming into blackness under slow cosmic-ray rain.
- After, Ever, by Caitlin O'Brien
- The boys turn into swans and fly away.
- Torah and Secular Learning, by Bogi Takács
- You can see through the world / and soon you will fall, burning
- All the Mari's Parties, by Mat Joiner
- Your past rides her onto the next house, and the next
- Sea Change, by Kathrin Köhler
- Never forget the weight of you / as I dragged you from the waves
- Invocabulary, by Gemma Files
- Nevertheless, I refuse / to spit into your food
- I Understand Video Games Aren't Real, by Leslie Anderson
- One night I watched my boyfriend play videogames. / I was unsure of him, still. I suspected / he would hurt or ignore me soon.
- Violet's Hearts, by Jeanie Tomasko
- At eight, she started cutting the hearts in / less-than-perfect shapes. Sometimes she cut a small tail on top of the heart. She told her father it / was the superior vena cava.
- Cave Bear Dreams, by Ann K. Schwader
- Suspended through the twilight centuries, / our bodies take in little, give back less
- In the High Places, by Gemma Files
- You have chosen the wrong king / between two kings, the wrong / love, between two loves
- La Dame à la licorne, by Rebekah Curry
- It slept while she dreamed of a millefleur forest / and the end of the story by a pomegranate tree
- Sister Philomela Heard the Voices of Angels, by Megan Arkenberg
- Their voices were blood coughed out on whiteness.
- Corpus, by Lila Garrott
- Is it enough to claim I am your daughter?
- Give Me Pluto, by Alexandra Seidel
- I want no hymns, no smoke, I do not even want / your love
- The Golden Line of the Horizon, by Sofía Rhei
- She wanted to reach the golden line of the horizons / to make a bow from it
- Sisters, by Mari Ness
- our hands filled / with bread and dates. / Our knives tremble / in our sleeves.
- Lost Letter, by Sofia Samatar
- the first time the snow came we thought it was a werewolf
- The End of Scheherazade, by Nancy Sheng
- Once there was a girl, and her death. / Her death lived with her all her days.
- Kepler's Music, by Alexandra Seidel
- and what of Tycho? Every orbit / an ellipse and one of two centers flaringly bright.
- Between the Mountain and the Moon, by Rose Lemberg
- Oh, I've been waiting for long years, polished my sleeves against the night; / Counting bloodbeats, shaman-hands against the earthskin of my ribs.
- Bone China, by David Sklar
- Only the living can taste it, / but after you've had it you're hers.
- Callisto to Ganymede, by Melissa Frederick
- You sad, charmed boys / think toting Chardonnay's a dream, / but Jove still fucks you in your sleep.
- Hold Fast, by Leah Bobet
- and these scarred arms, this scarred / heart does not send men to Hell.
- Returning Song, by Adrienne J. Odasso
- Our sin / is the folly of Sappho, the grief / of Alexander.
- Sky-shaping, by Michele Bannister
- (all the kindness of Tāne; leaf-shadow and branch-shiver, fern-frond unfolded)
- Scene I, graveyard, by Rachael Jennings
- Their / corpses suck our marrow through / root-arms, wanting something they / think we have.
- Not the Home World, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- Next year, / We'd be all over time, / And kick their trans-temporal heinies / Back to the middle of next week.
- Neuschwabenland, by John Zaharick
- She wanted vast water, sealed / for aeons under thick glaciers.
- The Second Law of Thermodynamics, by David Barber
- The mower cable�s puzzled into knots again / and somewhere, out of sight, a spider freezes / as that dropped screw rolls to a halt.
- Foam, by Selena Martens
- unrequited love's a pain / you could drown the ocean in.
- From the House of Dionysos, by Virginia M. Mohlere
- You rose up, lord, / and stretched me transparent: / feet inside Greek earth, / herb-maddened head back home.
- Kandinsky's Galaxy, by Mike Allen
- The calming void / came to him each time he closed his eyes
- Cerberus, Seeking Lethe, by Alexandra Seidel
- the fear / like a part of myself, like another head / that no one can see
- bell, book, candle, by Gwynne Garfinkle
- you even lose your cat
- The Birds: A Collage in Four Legendary Species, by Josh Burson
- She might claw my eyes out again, / but she might tell me a river / that flows to the truth
- Yajñāḥ / Offering, by Shweta Narayan
- the only me / I still I had, did Agni dance it to ashes?
- Atlantis, by Caitlín R. Kiernan
- I would so sink the world / But I alone would go a-foundering.
- The Vampire Astronomer, by Chris Willrich
- But they have whispered dark worries / He never voices in journals. / Why does the universe lurch / With the freight of mass unseen?
- Hyphenated American, by Nima Kian
- The father shattered like digital glass / and became his son's fantasy: / building parts of what a father should be / if the child fostered a man.
- Tongueless, by Mari Ness
- In the heat, my vision shimmers. / I thought it would be different, as a bird.
- Tesla's Waltz, by WC Roberts
- a double-shot of Mickey Finn by wireless / brings Persephone to life
- Ariel, by Erik Amundsen
- It's not / quite true, my sister-brother, it's your foot-tread in the / mist, it's neither one nor quite the other.
- Carrington's Ferry, by Mike Allen
- but as the taxi rushed the Lisbon streets / a voice heard from the wrong end / of a trumpet whispered new instructions / and she demanded instead the embassy / to Mexico
- The Lord Charon, by Tony Grist
- When the moment is right we go into his sack.
- Loki, Dynamicist, by Michele Bannister
- the more bodies I add the better / though always it lacks neatly-nailed resolution.
- Fallen, by Shannon Connor Winward
- Like a fledgling fallen from the nest / my scent erased by human hands / I cannot go home again.
- Imageography, by Robert Frazier
- But the telling image for me / Is Einstein standing in his study / Books askew on the shelves
- Wendy Darling Has Bad Dreams, by Sally Rosen Kindred
- I think now I was meant to be the clock / in the crocodile, to claim warm minutes / in the story�s gut, / in the boneless dark
- The Theater for Cloud Repair, by Sandra J. Lindow
- Personal weather / is de rigueur for poets this year.
- Love in the Quantum Era, by Greg Leunig
- Every device was a nanotech construct made of you. / Each night my blender deconstructed in front of me / and rebuilt itself in your image.
- Thumbelina Grows Up, by Jenny Rossi
- Listen to Freud�s sonorous voice—you are trickster friends.
- Ralph Touchett Awaits Revision, by Gwynne Garfinkle
- Alternately, to breathe through gills, no need / of blasted lungs, would be a mercy. But / I would not like to be a ghost, for that / is close to what I am.
- Missed Connection: Lizard in the Dog Park, by Polenth Blake
- your lizard's smoke chased me but / now my roots are deeper
- Reconciling Fundamental Forces and Matter, by Marci Rae Johnson
- Long bar table shining / like heaven. Sit down. Let me / tell you my theory of everything—
- Tickling the Dragon, by Jeannine Hall Gailey
- Oppenheimer would complain about his pangs / of conscience, the images of his friend haunting him.
- Strange Oblivion, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- but something's in the wind / crows know
- American Poetry 101 Mashup, by G. O. Clark
- when Robert's / snowy woods glow with / an unearthly light—
- Haruspicy, by Gemma Files
- And yet, I am still / more as you than either of us / would like to think.
- Wallpaper, by April Grant
- She has known these walls too long; / They tell her nothing now.
- The Book of Drowned Things, by Adrienne J. Odasso
- Death has always wanted me closer / than those she steals from my arms.
- In the Third Cycle, by Rose Lemberg
- When your lips pressed / warm upon my palm, I should have known.
- Lie-Father, by Gemma Files
- I could always make you laugh.
- Trenchcoat, by April Grant
- Here's your own world, bounded by one coat
- La Donna del Lago, by Mike Allen
- as he drowned unknowing, / pursued her murmur down into the deeps.
- Come to Venice, by Cythera
- Perhaps she was afraid of love.
- Zombie Heart, by Charles Cantrell
- He is dying / to be a vegetarian, but his wife won�t have it.
- Foxes, by Jamieson Ridenhour
- The cobbled / street under his paws was a slice / of Victoria, a pocket of time trapped / beneath the bridge, older than I, / and grittier.
- Our Father Who Art, by Jeanie Tomasko
- I was given to watercolor; / dreamy pictures of heaven / and earth—though oil was / tempting.
- The Internet in Heaven, by Sara Polsky
- When you sign on, my instant message service creaks like a door's hinges / not oiled enough to admit a ghost.
- The Mesozoic Tour Guide, by Ken Liu
- If baby theropods warble, / It means they like your yellow dress. / Keep your arms inside at all times.
- Homebound, by Shweta Narayan
- She comes into my kitchen for a slice / of black bread, buttered. I've grown so tired, / she says, of cake.
- The Curator Speaks in the Department of Dead Languages, by Megan Arkenberg
- Even the ones that survive have been / broken, lamed, their limbs amputated, / their features mangled past recognition.
- Plaster Messiahs, by Marge Simon
- I dreamed of butterflies, / but when the storms came, / they lifted up and disappeared.
- Maelbrigte's Woman, by Anne Sheldon
- My eldest son has brought me home / his father's head. / I have not asked him how / or what or who it cost, / but I have used it in a charm.
- Past Human, by Ann K. Schwader
- All men are created equal but we / can fix that now:
- Waking the Red Guardian, by WC Roberts
- tendrils of fiber optics from torn sheet metal / dripping visions of worlds to come
- If Alice. . ., by Alexandra Seidel
- If Alice had been born in China / her feet would have been bound
- Mythical Cities of Southwestern Minnesota, by Megan Kurashige
- And still we crossed it in the dark: / Like ships, like mail, like the blind—
- Telling Deaths, by Lila Garrott
- There will be sometime something I have not thought of.
- What Ray Taught Me, by Jenny Rossi
- I once fell in love with a man who had an open book for a face.
- Tonight I Know, by Shweta Narayan
- You, / star-garlanded; clouds / your laughing breath.
- Serenissima, by Jo Walton
- The half-masked man asserts that owls are luck.
- The Honey Man, by Alexandra Seidel
- and it flows beneath their skin / like death.
- Medical History, by F.J. Bergmann
- They say it is always sunny in there, although there are / clouds on the horizon. Occasionally someone will claim / to see mountains in the distance, and once a child said / he saw the turrets of a tiny city beyond the faraway hills.
- 11th Hour Sonnet, by Andrew Kozma
- All the doors are open. The earth / is rejecting the rain. Water tests our worth / through slow disintegration. All the cogs / of our lives have broken teeth.
- With Teeth, by Alexander Lumans
- She molded your mouth too slight, your fins too fine; / the tide's shaping was tough on us both.
- This Apocalypse, by Andrea Blythe
- Saucers hang like lazy silver cigars, each full / of little grey aliens with little grey zap guns. / The dead get up, take a stroll, and famished from their repose, / crack open skulls like walnuts.
- The City That Wasn't There, by Alexandra Seidel
- You / are here now as you have been / in different incarnations
- Surreal Fortune, by Bruce Boston
- Adjust the rearview mirror / until you see apothegms / swirling in your tailwind.
- At the Duck Convention, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- siren-singing death-dealing / traitors to the flocks,
- The Dream Police, by Lyn C. A. Gardner
- We're working through the walls, our thoughts / Drills honed diamond-fine by delta waves,
- The Three Daughters, by Suzanne Fischer
- White rosebush, red rosebush. / Shiny adze, spade, dug out / gold sepals but no blossoms.
- Shoe, by Robert Borski
- God was maybe loosening His boot / or something / so He could massage His bunions
- Dark Matter, by Timons Esaias
- knows that it's just one / more damn thing his kind / will have to straighten out;
- The Skin Walker's Wife, by Lisa M. Bradley
- She notes how this one fits inside her / fits so familiar inside his skin / not like her husband: stretching bone / and gristle beyond their limits
- Merlin, by Lorraine Schein
- I am a time bomb, set to detonate / into an unknown future.
- Cold War Champions: Bobby Fischer and Yuri Gagarin Descend to Earth, by Mary A. Turzillo
- Both circled the earth: / Fischer prowled its surface with his void passport; / Gagarin soared above on metal and fire.
- The Rabbit Catcher, by Marina Lee Sable
- the bald moon / retreats / eclipsed by clouds
- Life Lessons, by Emily Jiang
- She told you / the secret of your father's / dragon, how its teeth hold / warriors ready to defend / the city in time of need.
- The Music of Deep Spacers, by Bruce Boston
- Yet when the last call comes and / the lights flicker, and cafes / and dim bars are shutting down, / the music all at once changes / to a vast and haunting refrain
- Becoming, by Kate Marshall
- I've been walking now for years. I have / a perfect map of Paris tattooed / on the sole of my left foot. / I wrote your name on a curl of paper and burned it / where Caesar fell.
- Jin-Roh: Wolves in Human Armor, by Jeannine Hall Gailey
- You resemble a young girl I knew / and failed to kill. They picked you out, / called you a terrorist, ran you ragged.
- Relativity, by Cassie Beasley
- You will wear your watch backwards, / the time against your pulse, / polished back outwards, to catch / the reflections of planets like marbles / fading into the black.
- A Life in the Day Of, by Bruce Boston
- I will love you, she said, / like Darwin loved evolution. / Things change.
- Space Junk, by Marina Lee Sable
- You wonder if radar will pick / you up as a spectral shadow
- The Utterance of a Fluorescent Saguaro Rouses "Ignatz Mouse" From Turpitudinous Slumber, by Martin Hazelbower
- As sure as every yearning brick you heft awaits its flight— / or sure as one may trust a cactoid exegesis on the hearts of bricks—
- Amphisbaena, by Robert Borski
- At least until each head / decides, like some inbred prince, / it can strike / the truer course.
- Quiet in Her Mind, by Ann K. Schwader
- Years afterward, the whispers started. Starlight / turned them shrill as crystal in her head,
- The Moss Man, by Pat Tompkins
- Sleep descended from exhaustion after a day's labor, / the warehoused rows of young victims, whimpering. / Nil, nix. How did you dream in a red brick asylum?
- Pangea Restored, by Robert Borski
- First to achieve substantiality, rising to the surface / like Atlantis reborn, is her core personality,
- Leviathans, by C.S. MacCath
- Now slick leviathans spew from the sediment; / mephitic fiends, nameless, insensate, / pitchy tentacles undulating inland,
- The Second Room, by Robert Borski
- Who was it that said human / beings never conceptualized / the notion of ghosts
- Improving on Nature, by Joanne Merriam
- while other robots come and go,
- Sestina for Death, by James S. Dorr
- But, ah, this is a wake and so we drink
- Thrice, by Yoon Ha Lee
- icebird's sharp feather / firebird's charred talon
- Of Ithaca & Ice, by Ann K. Schwader
- I wandered the asphodel stars
- Egyptian Sparks, by Robert Borski
- On the night spur / between Kharga and Kena,
- Primer to Impractical Magic, by Robert Frazier
- Besides dosing with both eyes of newt / and a big pinch of Ma's Organic Loveroot
- Picturing World Peace on Earth Day, by Duane Ackerson
- I think about a bumper sticker I once saw: / "Picture Whirled Peas."
- Only So Many, by Rebecca Del Giorgio
- trading in the station wagon for / gilded wheels and wild eyed horses
- Impressions and Indentations, by Jeff Jeppesen
- A first predator, first nightmare, first symptom of madness
- Vincent and Miranda, by Matthew Stranach
- But sometimes he longed to / Peel back the perfect fibreglass skin / To unplug Miranda and leave her
- Fathom, by J. C. Runolfson
- she wears a dress like waves // dark and churning
- Radio Banquo, by Sonya Taaffe
- the stations spin like cooling stars
- Counting Sheep, by Robert Borski
- the entire endless uncounted lot / queued up all the way back to infinity / waiting for a simple turn to jump
- Some Zombies One Should Avoid, by G. O. Clark
- Radio talk show zombies— / who babble on throughout the night / to their half-conscious listeners,
- Requiem for the Tooth Fairy, by Robert Borski
- While I have yet to pick my weapon of / ultimate dispatch —
- Time Machine, by Alexandra Wells
- Head for the Altai mountains / But leave the souvenirs in the middens; / The locals are quick with an axe.
- Lizards and Wind, by Bruce Boston
- The lizards were like / lemmings rushing / blindly over a cliff side:
- The Planet of Ideal Readers, by F.J. Bergmann
- Small arthropods, with pink eyes / on writhing yellow stalks, they are / permanently curious. They watch
- Various Horses, by Duane Ackerson
- The rocking horse dreams of riding the carousel
- Linnaeus Names Theobroma cacao, by J. C. Runolfson
- from the land of clocks and milk maids
- Tweaking the World Bundle (Comstock's Synopsis of Improbable Events), by David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Kendall Evans
- The transformation of Mr. Unger was accomplished / In a nanosecond
- Rebranding, by Robert Borski
- All sound delicious, do they not?
- Revisionism, by F.J. Bergmann
- Fresh-minted, teneral, a new body- / with new ideas-crept from each / rejected discard. Membranous husks
- Idle Thoughts While Watching a Faun, by Sonya Taaffe
- His throat like oiled olive, his warm arms smell / not of rut and vinegar, but resin and stillness / disturbed, the hot light filtering on the beeches / and river-veins, the muddied onyx
- A Face Like an Imperfectly Shaven Tennis Ball, by Helena Bell
- She can have my hands too. To open jars, diet coke cans, / and to smack her demon-spawn cat into next Tuesday.
- Anasazi, by Richard Schiffman
- At night they plaited mythic baskets. / Four worlds ago they tunneled up / ant people pouring from earth's navel. / The world they earned we live in now,
- Sightings, by Marge Simon
- A young writer at your door, / you made no excuses for / the empty bottles, the debris / of loneliness and bygone times,
- Cultural Climate, by F.J. Bergmann
- On the centers of frozen lakes, / they built crystal palaces of ice / to demonstrate their faith that / climate was immutable.
- What If, by Duane Ackerson
- to sing their own dark songs
- Inter-Sentient Personal Ads, by John Nichols
- Must have suckers on each feeler.
- Little Ghosts, by Duane Ackerson
- This is no joke — / ghosts are real — / as real as economics.
- How to Bake a Cake From Scratch, by Lisa Nohealani Morton
- Once you've got evolution started, / don't worry about the mess
- On Keeping Pluto a Planet, by Greg Beatty
- Uneven, unbalanced, elliptical,/not even the farthest out,
- Struldbrug Variations, by Robert Borski
- Then in twice that amount of years/it appears blue,/a sky-colored or oceanic hole/that threatens to drink up time
- By Way of Sorrow, by Peg Duthie
- I've been told there are cures, but what I've heard/always ends with a witch in the fire
- Bubba, by Robert Borski
- one could no more / put a patch on a damaged / wing or red jewel of an eye
- Hunting Party, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- I return by secret paths to the campsite
- Finding the God Particle, by Sandra J. Lindow
- It is something and nothing
- Immaterial, by Sharon M. White
- my toes crawled off to eat some grass
- Cities in Fog, by Robert Frazier and Andrew Joron
- ὡς πολλοῖς ὄμμασιν εἰς σὲ βλέπω, by Sonya Taaffe
- stark as shadows cast by sun within a cave, / but the gravity of hand answering hand,
- Deluge, by Mike Allen
- When he learned he could drink the stars, he vowed / that even one burning sphere could never be enough
- f(love) = 0, by Monica M. Eiland
- how could I have missed Newton's trick / to finding area where none used to exist?
- Off the Pi Charts, by P M F Johnson
- The gates of Faerie are eroding—
- Surreal People, by Bruce Boston
- The evolution of flora and fawning / would have learned nothing / from Darwin.
- Gepetto, by Robert Borski
- By evening, he is nearly finished; / all that remains doing
- Thirteen Scifaiku for Blackbirds, by Joanne Merriam
- It was autumn all year. / Blackbirds came and went.
- The Sorrows of Rutherford, the Amazing Talking Dog, by Daniel Wright
- We bow, you walk me off into the wings / and treat my question as rhetorical.
- To Theia, by Ann K. Schwader
- That we are shattered creatures, / our sacred texts assure us, but not why
- Proof of Existence, by Duane Ackerson
- The dreambike had eyes on its spokes
- The Multiple Universe Poems, by Brenda Cooper
- About the puppy we didn't choose
- Black Hole Hunter's Guide, by Duane Ackerson
- You should think of this book as analogous/to a mushroom hunter's guide
- Little Red Cap Grows Up, by Amy Cummins
- Angina, chronic back pain, rotten molars
- They pass a dwarf star around like a bottle of rum, by Sankar Roy
- Copper shackles dazzle from their unzipped nebulas.
- MINSTREL'S LAST SONG, by Robert Borski
- To the sea, to the sea / eurydice, eurydice...
- Summer and Austin Have Left Their Apartment For a House, by Romie Stott
- They don't use the term latent heat anymore.
- The Chymical Marriage, by Sonya Taaffe
- They belong dead, but we resurrect them
- Rattlebox III, by Mike Allen, Kendall Evans, & David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- Skinner's daughter is or is not / within the box, a paradox. / Is she learning an algebraic maze?
- Book of the Dead Woman, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- I'd eat your inconsistencies / and read the songs of my entrails.
- Revolution Day, by Marcus Goodyear
- Start the flight that ends with smash. / We'll all super-collide to find immensity,
- Dark Emblem, by Greg Beatty
- From our fingers, what falls, / when we new faithful fall?
- In the Burned Places, by Ann K. Schwader
- we wait in vain for the asteroid / its aeon come round at last.
- Spacekill, by Robert Borski
- Radioactive natterjacks, leap-frogging / from black hole to black hole;
- Paper Doll, by Elizabeth Lee
- all our lives will resemble what we see in magazines
- Sweet Tooth, by Robert Borski
- when he / heard the dentist's strict injunction / against sweets
- Spacers' Prison, by Marge Simon
- We are his reminders, / a company of ghosts,
- Wind People, by Bruce Boston
- There is no tying down the wind with rope or chain or tackle.
- She's in the ice, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- Seemed like a good place / for the stolen mind
- Conflict Carbon, by Ann K. Schwader
- unutterably blue / as that sad legend's skies, the shattered hue / of starlight failing
- Infinite Zero, by Duane Ackerson
- Entering the computer
- Whiskers, by Jamieson Ridenhour
- I was bearded with words.
- Four Years Later, by Chris Szego
- When I watch over the cradle, our daughter, so perfect, / I see the subtle traps ahead:
- A Spartan Boy, by Ellie Biswell
- My grandfather fought at Thermopylae. / I say don't expect a second Lycurgus.
- Birdbrain, by Robert Borski
- Some traits are too deep to excavate / or remold, / like the impulse to take wing, to jump / into the sky
- The last time, we trust, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- The last time, / we went with something exoskeletal, / something with fewer organ systems / something colonial.
- Theodote, by Michael Meyerhofer
- all across our American highways, / the slick tableaux of truck stops / speak to the same want
- Gills, by Robert Borski
- Haeckel would be pleased—although / in his scheme there never was any such / things as mermaids.
- The Killer's Suicide Note, by Duane Ackerson
- as if darkness, / growing thicker every moment, / were filling him.
- The Would-Be Gods of Sonofusion, by Bruce Boston
- Embrace the stubborn dream / of perpetual energy.
- I Christen Thee, My Higgs Boson, by Michael Meyerhofer
- starlings migrating over Wal-Mart / calligraphy of the inexplicable
- Porlock, by Robert Borski
- Fish now swim through the / libraries of Atlantis
- Raised by Wolves, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- Our biochemical keys fit fossil locks
- Where Relativity Ends, by Elissa Malcohn
- Time warped, in those days / when we took days for granted. / When calendars meant something.
- pittsburgh o, by Martin Hazelbower
- pittsburgh, o spidered—like / mars!—with canals, running / carb'nated milks of the moon—
- A Guide to the Air-Dependent, by Kaolin Imago Fire
- Focus on the effort wasted / that makes you stronger.
- The Time Traveler Takes His Nth Lover at a Point of Departure, by Bruce Boston and Marge Simon
- Centuries have come and gone / in the flash of a passing station
- Ascending, by Mike Allen
- The escalator, rolling ever down, / has reached an end at last and here you lie
- The Invisible Woman Runs for President, by Karen A. Romanko
- A woman president is nothing new, / but an invisible woman president—that's change
- Gourmand in Remission, by Ed Gavin
- mindful of its bluer than blue bouquet
- Bardo Crossing, by Suzette Haden Elgin
- Leave her alone. / She is a poor small huddled thing,
- Teacher's Pet, by Robert Borski
- Various stratagems for outwitting / the beast have been tried
- Beowulf Goes to the Deli, by Tarun Shanker
- They arrived at Heorot deli, / there was not a deli more magnificent
- Exiling the Earth, by Duane Ackerson
- First, we sent away the trees, / then the bubble of breath
- Dream People, by Bruce Boston
- If dream people were the world / there would be no time / for reflection.
- The Astronaut's Return, by Marge Simon
- Too long I've been in exile, / I've paid enough for my misdeeds.
- Heyiya, by Sonya Taaffe
- Who would deal in straight lines with a god / of double faces?
- Moonfish, by Robert Borski
- Part trilobite, part lungfish, / it crawls about the basalt seas / of the Mare Tranquillitatis
- When the Vacuum Takes My Hand, by Holly Day
- is it assault / to turn off the power
- Laurentia Burning, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- a singing in the south / a quickening rumble / a great shimmy /
- Hill and Pail, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- She drags his body down, away from town, / to bury with the others, flattened grass / running wrong way against my scalp. /
- Black Swan, by Robert Borski
- this truest / of rarae aves still has, at least in game / theory, the potential for existence /
- Skywatching, by John Grey
- It takes a stalwart soul to find the light these days, / to go beyond the city and its affectations of / brightness /
- Upon the death of my host and waiting for uplink: by Event Horizon, formerly of the Oracle Duality Liselle Marie Michaud / Event Horizon, by C.S. MacCath
- It is cold. / No, not cold, but cooling / And still, except for bacteria / That favor flesh. /
- Atlantis, by Robert Borski
- All for / now is calm. No one / needs mention / the hubris of this Icarian /
- Maya Blue (at Chichen Itza), by Ann K. Schwader
- Above us in the silence yet to come, / deep thunder speaks — then lightning-axes fall
- Mondrian's War, by Mike Allen
- When did he first discover this gift for equilibrium? / An urgent revelation in a haystack-mounded field?
- The Vampire's Reflection, by Duane Ackerson
- he wakes to the moon's glassy stare
- Dystopian Dusk, by Bruce Boston
- if they had slapped blinkers / on our eyes, narrowing our vision
- Von Neumann's Poem, by Aaron Benson
- Do not read this verse
- A Posthuman, Blind and Appendage-less Stump of Flesh Experiences the Sensation of Reading Various Editions of "Gravity's Rainbow" in a Temperature Controlled Room with Cloroxed-White Walls., by Christopher Hellstrom
- I could experience it as a Medieval text
- Why She Canceled Her Online Dating Membership: A Martian Female Responds (a triolet), by Terrie Leigh Relf
- You ask why I'll no longer date a human? /
- Misfortune Cookie, by Lark Beltran
- No tears, just plots to keep the moving finger from writing their scary scripts. No doubt, rewriting,
- V.D., by Ed Gavin
- Kiss her, she tastes of broken glass / and promises, a cold gray ash / upon your tongue. But each adieu
- Some Random Hero, by Marcie Lynn Tentchoff
- Her life too short to waste / on other people's fantasies, / she went to find her own,
- Dancing with Stones, by Elizabeth Barrette
- All true things are known by stone, / whose wisdom is grown ponderous / with its rounding of the year's ring.
- CSI: TRANSYLVANIA, by Robert Borski
- Please update your awareness
- Family Poet, by Rolli
- One night, he vanished
- Transformation, by J. C. Runolfson
- I am writing
- Paper People, by Bruce Buston
- If the world / were paper people
- How Wizards Duel, by Jessica P. Wick
- I know your fingers. / I know them in the salt-sea. / I know them, charcoal-smudged, / smelling of smoke.
- Thousand Flower Sun, by Jennifer Crow
- We waited in the light / of our thousand-flower sun
- Diaspora, by Robert Borski
- The Word fractured then, like a crystalline / vase, and has been cracking and / splintering ever since.
- Topquark, by Gene van Troyer
- You are the top quark / in the particle stream blasting through your nerves
- The Calendar of the Dead, by Jacqueline West
- The uselessness of time / at the end / of breakfast, bedtime, dinner and sunrise.
- Monoculture, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- swirling with faces I don't know they / mouth words contort
- Our Father, the Colonel, Home on Earthleave, by Robert Borski
- Our father (who art from heaven) / sleeps standing-up, in an anti- / gravity chamber, but Mother ...
- This, a Kind of Prayer, by Kendall Evans
- That my skeletal remains might commingle / With a dire wolf's bones
- So Many Lullabies, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- I'm not the type of man / who needs a son,
- Werepenguin, by Joanne Merriam
- Little things make her love him: / he says he'll call and does,
- For His First Tattoo, The Robot Considers Several Different Designs, by Robert Borski
- In the end, the pulsing needle, with its / beam of light, scores / the metal deeply...
- Disciples of Paradox, by David Memmott
- in a wheelchair spaceship
- Poultry, by Duane Ackerson
- there is / no apparition in the shroud
- The Gambler, by Sonya Taaffe
- a comet glitters / like gunpowder,
- I'll Keep a Green Lantern Burning, by Lee Battersby
- Batts has been living out of the back seat / Since Missus Batman threw him into the street
- Zeitghosts, by Robert Borski
- Later, give or take a millennium, / in the food court next / to Chronautica, we share lunch,
- A Creation Myth, by Holly Dworken Cooley
- So Rock created stone in his own image
- Dsonoqua on Lewis, The Outer Hebrides, by Neile Graham
- She's a cranky tourist here. Exposed / with no forest to back herself into.
- Moonomania, by F.J. Bergmann
- If we had more moons, / months would fracture into innumerable shards
- Beanstalk, by Robert Borski
- from afar it must look like / God's finger, / the one He used when He / stirred forth the world's flora / from the first mud.
- Given to the Frost, by Ann K. Schwader
- Given to the frost our fragile cities / bright with banners, dance, & brilliant song / offered up in sunlight.
- Flights of Fancy, by Ed Gavin
- She expects fireworks upon arrival, / a spectacle put on just for her
- Beyond the Clouds of Paradise, by Bruce Boston
- We see the chosen revelers / in their endless cosmic dance.
- She Needed To Get Out, by Ashley M. Nissler
- She'd smudged my fresh-scrubbed wall. "Why so yellow?" / I asked. You never can tell with Charlotte.
- The Night Boat, by Sonya Taaffe
- Over the damp-blackened slates, the harbor / lights douse and sizzle in the sloping rain,
- Golem Americanus, by Robert Borski
- Strung up on our armatures of wood, it is we / who feign life every time the wind blows.
- Post-Material Lotophagi, by Gene van Troyer
- It's there on every page that links / into the junction of that throbbing dot. You are here.
- The Native Finds Her in the Wreckage, by Marge Simon
- but he breaks her fingers anyway, / stretches the bones to imitate his own,
- Watching the Watchman, by Robert Borski
- the rosettes open, blink, and take light.
- Why We Left, by Ann K. Schwader
- The breath of chaos / Howled there like a solar wind / Too strong to ride, too wild to trust:
- Children of Breath, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- There are no children of my blood / because I have failed under the eye / of history to make a family
- The Wandering, by Rane Arroyo
- We've been pushed into this lush / nothingness in the sky. Yes, I wore / a cloud as a crown while herded / onto my ship.
- The Wolf From the Door, by Sandra J. Lindow
- Regular maintenance/takes longer now/and the nightly ritual/washings and lockings/consume me.
- Antivenom, by Robert Borski
- Six long months of fever and vomit/later, he believes himself ready
- Wereman, by Robert Frazier
- a pup slipped backward toward the valley below / the gray didn't hesitate to leap in and push her free
- Attracting the Attention of a Cat Who Disdains to Acknowledge Your Existence, by Susannah Mandel
- I see I fill you with contempt./I cannot prove your feeling wrong.
- Bird Seed, by Duane Ackerson
- The seeds immediately sprout acres of jays
- The Painting Speaks, by Duane Ackerson
- My voice recognition units/enable me to eavesdrop on your critique
- The Quince Bedroom, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- She touched her round organic limb
- Growing Days, by Tina Connolly
- We only talk now on growing days
- Transmutation, by Scott Pearson
- Wanting to shed what bleeds
- Wings, by Andrea Blythe
- peeling from his flesh, reaching up, tips pointed skyward.
- Animal Pharm, by Robert Borski
- Dr. Moreau, with his uplifted / beasts, might be considered / the father of this line of research
- Dark & Light, by David Lunde
- Dark / is the natural state of things
- Freebasing the Moon, by Mike Allen
- Silver glitters in his cratered eyes
- Gaia's Children, by Robert Borski
- I am now half the monster I used / to be.
- What Relativity Tells Us, by Jeff Jeppesen
- There is no such thing as distance—
- The Amateur Astronomer in Me, by Timothy Green
- It's no wonder he spends / so much time alone
- Wish-stone at Dunnottar, by Neile Graham
- Twice I have assailed these walls.
- The Cook and the Scullery Maid, by Mikal Trimm
- Such a mess the Master makes with his plate—
- If Cold Is a War, by Ann K. Schwader
- If cold is a war, it was forced upon us
- The Bell Ringer's Wife, by Robert Borski
- So maybe he's not the most handsome man
- Flyboy, by Lucy A. Snyder
- With a chemistry book in my hand, I could fly.
- Porch Lights, by Duane Ackerson
- Milky traffic lights click on and off,
- Armageddon: At the Clinic, by Marge Simon
- Stella checks the food supplies.
- Rehydration, by Tina Connolly
- The ship is hot; it backfires / in the last row of corn, and there is popcorn in the night / which isn't supposed to happen
- The Whole Atom, by Lee Ballentine
- grief wakes the nucleus / of the whole atom
- An Atypical Reaction to the Death of the Sun and the Moon, by Mikal Trimm
- a sliver of sunlight threatening the sky / so I don't have much time before / I lose the animal inside
- This is the House, by Jaime Lee Moyer
- This is the way Jack's eyes gleam / in a house where no one can see. / This is the way he shivers.
- Muse, by Sonya Taaffe
- With ink I feathered you, at your fingertips sketched
- We Will Not Go To Memphis, Then, by Jeff Jeppesen
- We camp not far from the empty highway but no cars drive by.
- Be True, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- Your devotion to mathematics and the three laws / of robotics prohibit romance and biology.
- Casting Her Lot, by Deborah P. Kolodji
- Stranded from the outer galaxy, / she signs over her last ranch credits ...
- Jumping into the System, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- We're fomenting revolutions on alien planets,
- Now We Must Speak in the Shadows of Silence, by Kendall Evans
- the intermittent chant / of lunar eclipses
- Crash, by Robert Borski
- he managed to evade conscription
- The War on Terror, by Duane Ackerson
- insecurity was our only security
- The Observatory, by Duane Ackerson
- Now the observatory stores firewood
- Dead Light, by Ann K. Schwader
- As it happened, the star she wished on burned
- Noplace Like Home, by Elizabeth Barrette
- And the strange moon hanging overhead / Is every shade from palest chrysoprase / Through emerald to almost black
- A Compass for the Mutant Rain Forest, by Bruce Boston and Robert Frazier
- Travelers who venture this trek witness / these mutations and are soon transfixed.
- The Robot-Emperor's Concubine, by Elizabeth Barrette
- Some nights, after he leaves, / She sits on the windowsill / Staring into the night,
- Bluebeard's Third Wife, by Helena Bell
- I am the answer in Trivial Pursuit, / the first interesting prime,
- Kitchen Carcharodon, by Robert Borski
- . . . it waits to strike down / the unwary, / the unsuspecting innocent
- Iphigenia in Shaker Heights, by Mary A. Turzillo
- Daddy kisses me, hands me onto the skiff, / going home to explain it all to Mom, he says.
- Sleeping Beauty, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- Poor planning lets fate devour the happy story here-and-now.
- Sympathy, by Lucy A. Snyder
- Sympathy evolved peripherally
- Blood Moon Sestina, by Jennifer Hudock
- What crushes underfoot like old bones?
- Moon Mirror, by Duane & Cathy Ackerson
- she can't take her eyes off herself.
- Beach Climbing, by Elizabeth Barrette
- Gills becoming lungs
- Telling, by M. Frost
- soldiers of your enemy wait / stroking the flanks of their guns.
- Full Fathom Five, by Leah Bobet
- Full fathom five you sing the change / into something rich and strange
- Spiral Scream, by Ann K. Schwader
- Was this what you heard, Edvard Munch, / in that moment / when vision shrieked like a mad sunflower
- A Rebel's Pale Eyes . . ., by Robert Frazier
- Seem to haunt this icy REM fugue of mine / The pixilated arcs of a black box imagery
- Helen Says . . ., by Chris Szego
- . . . much is passed on, you see. Oh, not the / surface—the face is due to my mother's mother
- The Last Alchemist, by Bruce Boston
- when even the quarks / Charm and Strange rise / to a balanced breakfast,
- After the Last Spaceship, by Deborah P. Kolodji
- A dying world's value / borne in a shoulder sack
- Elementary Students Explore the Universe, by Helena Bell
- these kids will in one week / discover the unifying theory of physics.
- To Her Mother, by Leah Bobet
- I didn't want to let you down
- Home at Last, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- remembering when / they kept her / in the sea
- Giving Back the Moon, by Duane Ackerson
- I left all the other moons in place.
- Trepanation, by Lucy A. Snyder
- Headcutting is old as woodcutting
- Field Notes, by Bette Lynch Husted
- They have imagined something they call time.
- Mirror Man, by Cathy & Duane Ackerson
- Deciding on a mirror as the perfect camouflage, / he drinks the liquid coating destined for one.
- The Bather, by Joanne Merriam
- but beautiful as the daze of nature's chlorophyll dynamos
- lis pendens, by Mike Allen
- I filed suit for your soul today.
- Distant People Gravitate To Distant Worlds, by John Grey
- the first footprint on strange worlds, / and sometimes the last.
- A Feel for the Heavens, by Robert Frazier
- often they have picked clean his ego and left him / hiking along the barren shores of physics
- Abductee: Two Sonnets, by Ann K. Schwader
- It started with her coffee—
- In All Probability, by K J Kirby
- We always knew / we weren't the only world, not even / here in our own little system
- Virgo H121, by Deborah P Kolodji
- A gas cloud spins its wheels / unable to form the stars / of sister galaxies
- The Glass Blower, by Karen A. Romanko
- Inside the crystal sphere / in an identical wooden chamber / sits a glass blower, / completing a pretty vase
- Fallen, by Sheree Ren�e Thomas
- The night a comet / with its silver tail / tucked between its legs / fell through darkness
- Taking Back the Moon, by Duane Ackerson
- Real estate agents \ may notice a gap in the night sky.
- After Reading Stephen Hawking's Essays On a Nutshell-Shaped Universe, by Apryl Fox
- Humankind, so small, they are tiny.
- Marble People, by Bruce Boston
- If marble people were / the world
- Stormland, by Elizabeth Barrette
- I grew up / in a house made of clouds
- Parchment People, by Bruce Boston
- like the texts of old, / each of us would be a book
- Spot in Space, by G. O. Clark
- See Spot / gazing out the porthole / of his space capsule, looking / down at Dick and Jane
- Stella Rosetta, by Yoon Ha Lee
- No poem survives its own / translation.
- Ajax Redux, by Bruce Boston and Marge Simon
- I live in a land of ice / and mirth and explicit premise. / I'm starving, but I don't hunger / for your glittering glory.
- Cherries for Buttons, by Joanne Merriam
- I woke for a woman all tooth and whispered want. Like the oven she was / warm when met and cold when done.
- Sweets, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- must we smile, must we thank her / even though she never gives us sweets?
- Summoning, by Tim Jones
- the lighting of a candle / and the speaking of a name
- A Story for Winter, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- The snow is deeper now and we cannot / get out
- At the Dump, by Duane Ackerson
- chanted portions of the 1957 / Chevy Owner's Manual / to summon a virgin.
- The Journey to Kailash, by Mike Allen
- I tell him I know a doctor / who can do something about that nose.
- The Dream Factory: Two Tours, by Duane Ackerson
- the dream completer software / massages the story line / and develops alternate dreamlines.
- SETI Hits Pay Dirt, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- We have come, gods be spoken / between packing and material (?)
- Swans Take Flight at My Father's Grave, by Scott Hughes
- Put down this poem, / see it now: the black hole / stretching like a mouth
- Chess People, by Bruce Boston
- Some women would be queens, / both swift and extreme / in their influence.
- Where Elevator Music Comes From, by Thomas D. Reynolds
- how resilient, yet how vulnerable, they have evolved
- Daughters, by Suzanne Burns
- As murder chimed with the clockworks / you confessed to thumbing fashions
- The Bones of the Tale, by Neile Graham
- I read her bones like oracles
- Symbiosis, by K. J. Kirby
- The cold hard hearts of gods / despise / the lickspittle loyalty of dogs
- Tiger Lily Madness, by Cat Rambo
- Tiger lilies for me, their petals dusted with black pollen / Like a moth's shadow
- from FRANK, by CAConrad
- after Mother / died her red / dress continued / baking pies
- When you left your body lying around, by Keyan Bowes
- The face in the mirror was more familiar than my own
- John Travolta Stars in My Flick, by Earl J. Wilcox
- I ask him: / Why are we drinking out of paper cups, anyway? I need / to know.
- The Greening, by Joanne Merriam
- we know the sound / and see their footsteps' deep blue shadows and their occasional bodies
- Also Sprach Fred, by Gary Lehmann
- my brother-in-law posed as Fred Nietzsche on a trans-Atlantic flight
- The Strip Search, by Mike Allen
- I thought I'd tossed all my hope away, / but when I stepped through the Gate, it still pinged.
- Summoning Stones, by Jennifer Crow
- I call the pebbles / broken by ice, / smoothed by water and time.
- Some Houseguests Can't Be Helped, by Peg Duthie
- Aunt Marybelle being Unitarian, see, / and thus already well-versed / in unnatural ways with peanut butter
- Son of an Astronaut, by John Grey
- Now, everything gathers dust
- Swan Fetish, by Erin Donahoe
- He slips out at night, / when his swan-wife is sleeping / and takes her cloak of feathers with him.
- Return Engagements, by Greg Beatty
- When the whirring saucers came, / back in the 1950s, they came / for our women,
- Waiting for the Daemon, by Pamela Steele
- Outside, hard frost has fallen / from the mouth of the moon
- Natalie, by Heidi Garnett
- She'll always be a seamstress now, / sewn into a simple black dress,
- Cabazon, by Samantha Henderson
- Lucy's big ape eyes brimmed, / And he leaned close to hear her whisper: / I know what's it's like, Mr. Man; I have lost one too.
- The Great Gnome Escape, by Duane Ackerson
- guarded indifferently / by deer, ducks, and flamingoes,
- Settler's Song, by Joanne Merriam
- the way plumigan flock to the mowthorn at suggestions of snow.
- Making Robot Poets Great, by Greg Beatty
- They remembered perfection
- Halos, by Tobias Seamon
- halos once emanated above every human head
- Sturgeon Crosses Over, by Marge Simon
- Light is calling
- Curse of the Void's Husband, by Bruce Boston
- Beyond the lattice / a vacuum that devours / all it surveys with / aimless abandon.
- On Any Given Midnight, by Ann K. Schwader
- These stars will never shine so bright / as they do now. Our future lies / darker & lonelier every night.
- First Contact, by Joanne Merriam
- Try sign language, semaphore, a series of notes. / Feel how the walls freeze and can't breathe.
- Picasso's Rapture, by Mike Allen
- handsome, sullen, clad in / diamonds of rose and black, / wearing Harlequin's peaked hat, / the nature of his magic / as yet unsculpted.
- Rattlebox, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Mike Allen
- heat shimmer veils Heisenberg / details—the expected can never happen here, / but sometimes it just might.
- For The Rain It Raineth Every Day, by Mikal Trimm
- On Tarsus the rains come / once every seventy years
- In Their Element, by M. J. Kirby
- It's a Saturday night / at the Accelerator Club.
- Orpheus Retires, by Erin Keane
- Sons of muses / know the score—we follow, / heroic
- In Blood On Stone In Bone, by Neile Graham
- how do we know her?
- Three Urban Legends, by Duane Ackerson
- Here's the one with Elvis's profile
- Crazy Box, by Rio Le Moignan
- It was supposed to be a time machine.
- A Bestiary: Tlaltecuhtli, by Tim Pratt
- you run out of hope, you remember
- The Elongated Years, by Bruce Boston
- Our lives were stretched beyond their limits.
- Ossuary, by Ann K. Schwader
- entombed by accident or failed escape / from orbit, he is otherworldly tall
- The Rainy Season, by Joanne Merriam
- It's August and rain makes the air fresh / as it dances on our roof. It's my first time in love.
- Equinox, by Yoon Ha Lee
- The word itself / acknowledges the tilted / balance
- Chagall's Lamp, by Mike Allen
- She shone from inside, / her skin like sunlit clouds, / her eyelashes pins of light.
- Prince Charming, by Helena Bell
- One December / the Prince abandoned hunting, / tired of Old Kings with blind dogs, / and ugly daughters, selling their lands / with marriages.
- Wise and now-departed uncles, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- The first ones, / those who built everything / worthy of the name,
- Yggdrasil Yardwork, by Sandra J. Lindow
- Yardwork used to be easier / before the Norns unionized.
- Assembling Titan, by Deborah P Kolodji
- puzzle pieces / fitted together / without a box lid
- Surface Properties, by Joanne Merriam
- I wish we'd never come here.
- We Asked, by Tobias Seamon
- We asked for a tyrant
- Operation Macbeth, by Duane Ackerson
- while someone tolls a bell / in a drowned cathedral
- War Is For the Hard of Hearing, by Greg Beatty
- That soldiers silently embrace
- The Bus Stops Here, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel and Kendall Evans
- I am almost sure that it begins on the bus— / She sits alone, flanked by strangers;
- Excess Baggage, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- Once our genes were our own, / or we were theirs,
- Rich & Strange, by Ann K. Schwader
- When they come back from the stars, we will not know them.
- Strange Cargo, by Mike Allen
- The train slides toward the hill-concealed horizon, / a mammoth serpent winding through the tall grass,
- Tam Lin, by Dru Pagliassotti
- They warned me not to go to Carterhaugh— / Tam Lin was there / And he had a reputation / For using women.
- The Other Sleeping Beauties, by Greg Beatty
- Once upon a time, you couldn't / shoot an arrow through these / woods without tinking a glass bier.
- Rural Blessings, by Pam McNew
- The tractor wouldn't need fixing, the bank would stop calling, / and maybe my mom would no longer need to go dancing / around a bonfire, naked, in the evenings.
- A Theory of the Universe, by Marci Rae Johnson
- I am the universe, / the beginning and the end, yet
- Second Bait, by Cathy & Duane Ackerson
- Even in the dark the boy knew what to do. / He cut the soul out of the shark.
- Leonid's Family Reunion, by Leah Bobet
- Leonid is a good host, a busy host. / He has no time to feel alone.
- Trawling for Trolls, by Duane Ackerson
- Then, in the midst of pretending to drown, / they discover they really are drowning, / no rescue in sight.
- Voices, by Kathryn Rantala
- airborne and essential, / luminous as a silver vessel.
- Gray People, by Bruce Boston
- If gray people were / the world we would wait / for others to colorize.
- Bird People, by Bruce Boston
- If bird people / were the world / our lives would / span continents.
- Diana, by Andy Miller
- Come! Drink this milk! It has dissolved the moon.
- Absolute Zero, by David Lunde
- Some nights I think that the stars / Have died
- All the Starry Audience, by Bruce Boston
- The starry audience / waits with baited breath / for the conclusion / of the docudrama
- Minions of the Moon, by Deborah P. Kolodji & Ann K. Schwader
- crescent grins / halfway to the horizon / minions of the moon
- Mother of Atlantis, by Robin M. Mayhall
- Guided by the pull of instinct / She knows only temperature; / She seeks the perfect weight and warmth / Of sand to cradle her last egg.
- The Tall Walkers, by Marge Simon, illustration by Marge Simon
- Thin & long / as moonlit shadows
- Library Time: A Folk Tale, by Holly Elliott
- Time has stopped in the children's section; / it is 2:25 and 37 seconds.
- Distractions, by Lisa Firke
- It takes practice, this inattention / to life beyond the desk.
- Making Monsters, by Tim Pratt
- In a little workshop / downtown, in a room / without windows, a man / sits at a workbench, making / monsters.
- Soul Searching, by Tim Pratt
- On weekends I help my old neighbor look / for his soul. He says he used to be a wizard, or a giant / (the story varies from telling to telling), and, as was / the custom for his kind, he put his soul into an egg / (or perhaps a stone) for safe-keeping.
- After You Die #6: Sunglasses at Night, by David Bain
- After you die, you / put on a pair of shades and / go driving at night.
- Stars, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- you, volcano or limpet, / clinging to my mind's eye / like you were born there, / starlight streaming through your keyhole,
- Ghost People, by Bruce Boston
- If ghost people / were the world / we would roam / the empty highways / in search of life.
- Space War, by Mike Allen
- SPACE went to war with itself at 8:20 Tuesday morning / on the phony oriental rug in my living room.
- Ode to the Last Mountain, by Danny Adams
- But tend to the fire on your mountain / Before the world falls asleep. . . .
- Space on Twenty Dollars a Day, by Chris Corbett
- He began showing symptoms of coming and going / A nesting sparrow spooked off an egg
- The Scattering of Ashes, by Chris Corbett
- He knew it wasn't an accident / There was no oversight / no cause for excuse
- Signs You Could Be a Clone, by Bruce Boston
- You have a recurring / nightmare about being / trapped in a Mason jar.
- The Blind Man, by Duane Ackerson
- How to Survive on a Distant Planet, by Thomas D. Reynolds
- Terrified, we watched him work, / and after he chopped a load of firewood, / cleaned the gutters, and mowed the lawn. . . .
- Night of the Living Dead Metaphors, by Lisa Firke
- What if women were not circles / and men were not straight lines?
- Near Life Experience, by Tobias Seamon
- "What was it like?" / family, friends whispered, / shoulders and chins bent close, / as though speaking lowly would diminish / their ghoulish curiosity.
- How to Court a Native of Altair V, by Bruce Boston
- Offer her-it-him / as a sexual favor / to your family and friends.
- Antique Roadshow of the Occult, by John R. Platt
- Hello, and welcome / To the Antique Roadshow of the Occult / From the convention hall / In scenic Salem, / Our experts are waiting to meet you.
- Song from the Kalevala, by Eleanor Arnason
- My daughter is gone. / She has turned into a salmon.
- Her Hero, by Leah Bobet
- Last night, between / the pizza and the death ray / she found out who I was again.
- The Wheel, by Andrew Grossman
- She sends a herd of horses / Stampeding across the sky, / to pull the covering from his bed.
- In the Time of Lycanthropy, by Jim Heston
- by stalking various tomorrows / as if they are a pack of wolves / I will wear one of them like a cloak / slip into its skin once it is mine
- tropical dream, by Karen R. Porter
- the garish purple feathers / of the bird that only lives / somewhere in her eyes
- Jewels #1, by Dawn Stanton
- The bloated opal moon, in black sapphire sky, nudges diamond stars.
- Death and the Magus, by Jack Heazlitt
- Despairing of marvels, we settled for mockery,
danced on the magicians sofa,
swung from his chandelier
and burst through one last door to find . . .
- A Ghost Story, by Duane Ackerson
- A small voice is whispering. / "George . . . George something . . ." / in his ear.
- Letter from the Old World, by Tobias Seamon
- The poets, as usual drape themselves across / the gravestones, mewing flirtatious threats towards / their intended.
- Supersonic Rocketeers, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- The Dashing Captain struck a pose, / and romanced a Virgin Queen with his / hard, tanned, body.
- Carnival, by Jennifer de Guzman
- Your mother is the swan-bench. / We don't know who your father was.
- A Daybook of Devils, by Tobias Seamon
- Monday: / St. Valentine's Devil coyly seals / stamps to scented envelopes, posting / missives of hidden love for strangers: / secret admirer to the all-alone.
- When Clock Is Egg, by Bruce Boston
- The walls of the chamber dissolved about me. / The substance of the world began to sing, / a roar at first painful, at last sublime.
- How I Will Outwit the Time Thieves, by Mike Allen
- at last I see this conspiracy / for what it is: a temporal embezzlement
- All Things Being Relative, by Jim Heston
- even an astronaut can find time to be / the best man at his only brother's wedding / before accelerating toward the speed of light / in a tiny capsule composed of thin aluminum . . .
- The Rose-Child Iterates, by Leah Bobet
- In the dreamworld, she called the filing cabinets brother. / We are alike. We are akin. / Like you, I am full of secrets / Just waiting to be opened up.
- Adero's Wheel, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- This far from Earth, the stars don't line up / in what they call "familiar patterns". There's weather / enough to sit and watch the clouds turn over / our heads, revealing night.
- Spring Invades, by Nina Kiriki Hoffman
- And then the day comes / when the blue comes back. / Birds are dark against it / like words spoken by winter.
- Sound Check, by G. O. Clark
- When all are asleep, / I can hear the stars sizzling like / 4th of July sparklers, / the moon grumbling to itself, / and the silence of / possibility seeking a voice in / a busily mutating world.
- from FRANK, by CAConrad
- Frank was embarrassed in the bar / when his skin began to smoke
- Seven Silurian Scenes, by Steven Utley
- The drifting lands close / on ancient seas like the jaws / of vast, patient beasts.
- Angel Bites, by Tim Pratt
- In the event that you are bitten by an angel, / immediate steps must be taken
- Tarot Cards and UFOs, by Mark Rudolph
- My mother is seeing a fortune teller / because she wants to know / the exact date, time, and place / the aliens will land.
- Deities, by Tobias Seamon
- and so is the cat, black / fur coating the chairs, sinking / into the places he's torn in the fabric
- Evolving, by Linda Addison
- tears of the dinosaurs / clicking on window panes
- God's Gift to Women, by Sharon Wachsler
- When I devoted my life to Christ I was not prepared / for how normal it would be.
- Pulse, by Mike Allen
- Red pulse black pulse blue pulse sound thrums / quantum chance rhythm beats with subatomic / possibilities that pulse up pulse down pulse with
- Quasimodo Takes the Grand Tour, by Tobias Seamon
- Beginning in Dublin, where the whale-lanes end. Below / the Trinity belltower, Stephen's Green, where the / citizens like August dogs stretched under a flurry of / sun. I climbed the steeple, rang the bells. On the / Green, a few books were shut, fewer eyes opened.
- Raven Rules, by Duane Ackerson
- It is like a hawk . . .
- Mrs. Rigsby's Fatecast, by Mike Allen
- And if you happen to be Mrs. Hilda Rigsby, / do not walk down Coralview Avenue at 10:38 / this evening. . . .
- My Favorite Life, by Megan E. Davis
- I am weeping for old memories / of my favorite life . . .
- How a Werewolf Chooses an Agent, by Bruce Boston
- Knows Stephen King, Steven / Spielberg, and Steven Seagal.
- The Laundromat Advances the Plot, by Jon Hansen
- I snuck down there once / hoping to see someone I knew / like Captain Kirk getting blood / and dirt out of his uniform
- Futurity Wears the Head, by Bruce Boston
- In isolated and remote regions Futurity sleeps for centuries only / to awaken refreshed with an accelerating appetite that can devour / generations.
- Ammut in Her Later Years, by Tim Pratt
- Ammut snapped up their hearts / and swallowed, the juice filling her mouth, the hearts / dropping into the great empty hollowness at her center.
- A Portrait of the Artist, by Vandana Singh
- Yet beyond the glare of its twin suns, in the night of the caves, / There are paintings, glowing mauve and silver, yellow and green. / Phosphorescent waves of . . . abstraction? / Or a literal reflection of some unfathomable reality?
- When Soft the Water Fell, by Yoon Ha Lee
- Vapor spills / from her eyes, / from the pores that nest in her skin, / from her open mouth.
- Bosch in Hollywood, by Karen A. Romanko
- Hell / mandolin crucifixions
- What If, by James F. Yockey
- I will / and will not / be comforted / by six arms and a triple goddess / Ménage à trois
- The Secret Lives of Fingerprints, by Jacie Ragan
- Intricate whorls and loops / like the flight / of summering buzzards / who swoop through the hollows / and hover over ridges / to capture updrafts
- Children of the Mutant Rain Forest, by Bruce Boston
- wherever I travel / on Earth or beyond, / the forest stains / my life and thought.
- In His Cloak Still Freezing, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- A chill river flows from the glacier's toe, / bringing with it all the glacier carries, / and depositing its load where no sun shines.
- Surreal Wedding, by Mark Rudolph
- The sign says CHURCH and at the top / of the hill, guarded by the granite names / of dead parishioners, it is the only piece / of architecture for miles around / neither tumbling down nor recently erected.
- Psyche and Eros, by Leah Bobet
- She was always the cerebral one. / He was a tumult, a tempest, a true tribulation. / But for him she learned accounting to sort lentils, / Husbandry to pluck golden fleece, / Physics to contain beauty in a box.
- Origami Rockets, by Bruce Boston
- The moon smells / like a green apple.
- A Bestiary: Ts'its'tsi'nako, by Tim Pratt
- Imagine a woman. Imagine a spider. Imagine / the woman is a spider, but also a woman, and also / imagine that she made everything you see, / and also that she made you, so that you might see / the other things she made. Imagine that she made / your imagination.
- A Bestiary: Nidhigg, by Tim Pratt
- It has been said that everyone is a world unto themselves, / and to stretch a metaphor, that implies / subterranean depths, and biological equivalents / to geological structures, and at least the possibility / that myths about the world might apply / on a more personal level as well.
- Portrait of the Mad Scientist's Wife, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- The design is inconsistent: / rooted at one level in the painter's art, / and at another, in the product of my admirable / machine.
- The Holes through which the Scarabs Come, by Marge Simon
- If you get high enough / you can worship down.
- Mary Has a Prophetic Vision, by G.O. Clark
- the eyes of a ventriloquist's dummy, / the pointy ears of Nick Bottom, / and the voice of a drunken Greek god
- It's Not the Magic, by John Teehan
- Whether or not I believe in magic is surely beside the point. . . .
- Rich and Pam Go to Fermilab and Later See a Dead Man, by Richard Chwedyk
- Each particle a Basho frog slipping into / the pond, to the surface of / perception—plop, splash, again . . . / and again.
- The Leonids, 11/18, 2002, by S.R. Compton
- Connect the dots, connect the dots
- The Kidney Thief, by Jamie Wasserman
- One man woke in his bath packed in ice like a fish
- Driving Across Idaho, by Duane Ackerson
- it's as if the car is caught in an old forties movie
- Wolfways, by Tim Pratt
- There are so many ways to become a werewolf.
- German Man Found in Home 5 Years After He Died, by Jamie Wasserman
- What do you say to the neighbor / who swore she heard him coughing / (crying, maybe) only yesterday?
- No Words, by Joanne Merriam
- we just have no words for what they are.
- My Wings, by Michael Chant
- it hurts when I let them out / but they have to be let out / because they hurt when they're kept in too long,
- Spontaneous Human Combustion, by Jamie Wasserman
- It's not likely to happen, / but should it, it would strike / without warning.
- Eel Week, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- I was surprised to see eels wandering around downtown. / They tried to blend in, but it was hopeless.
- Carcinodjinn, by Tim Pratt
- and having discovered a thumb- / sized tumor in his left lung,
- Mirror Points, by Joanne Merriam
- Somewhere an ion or electron slows as it enters a stronger magnetic field, and is turned back.
- The Computer vs. My Personal Evolution, by John Grey
- I had planned evolving into this, / a million years from now.
- Alien Quarry, by Bruce Boston
- There was something centipedal / in his violet stare / that made her skin itch.
- Shepherds in the Night, by Tracina Jackson-Adams
- We weren't expecting shepherds, / and nearly tripped over them, since / we were looking at the sky.
- The Roar of the Greasepaint, the Smell of the Crowd, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- The elephants were better; / the gray pebbly skin was quite realistic, and if / the creatures had just been a little bigger, / the simulation would have been almost uncanny.
- Anthropic Principle, by Emily Gaskin
- you tread on dead wood, / your face awash with moonlight / bent down by the soft grey clouds.
- Gwydion's Loss of Llew, by Ellen Kushner
- No one sang in the house, / And when I set my ears into the wind of the hall, / All I could hear was, / I am cold . . . I am cold . . . / It is October.
- Metarebellion, by Mike Allen
- This is the time, the Soothspeaker said, / the webbing of her mind filled with tangles / of light, the clusters of her eyes pressed / shut.
- Skrying, by Derek Adams
- If I stare long enough into the polished black obsidian mirror, / they will come to me / the angels or demons.
- Superheroes, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- There are so many ways to get through a skylight, / here are just a few:
- Seventh Coming, by Mike Allen and Ian Watson
- One Messiah in particular became rather famous.
- A Bestiary: Engulfer, by Tim Pratt
- Funny thing, I thought I heard the water / in the bottles crying, like kids snatched / away from their mother, like lost kittens / grabbed by the scruff and stolen away.
- A Bestiary: Plate Spinning, by Tim Pratt
- This isn't about physics or / geography, it's about the fact / that the world must rest on someone's shoulders
- The Garden of Time, by Lorraine Schein
- Here, an atomic clock blooms chronons. / Nuclear pistils strike and quiver at the hour. / The bright petals of minutes enfold me.
- Mr Hyde's Daughter, by Mary Alexandra Agner
- . . . watches her fingers shrink / back to human size, her knuckle hair disappear, / leaving only the smooth, ivory skin / so coveted by gentlewomen.
- The Children of the Moon, by Heather Shaw
- You can see them as they move among you / their opalescent aura shimmers like summer pavement heat, / mother-of-pearl, on the tips of their frizzed-out split ends.
- All Those Bleached Bones . . ., by Andy Miller
- all those bleached bones / beside a road carved out of desert night
- chaos, by Jessica Langer
- gods and muses / arc from sky to earth / and earth to sky / in thought-bodies
- It Wears You, by Ann K. Schwader
- No doubt the cyborg lifestyle has its thrills. . . .
- My Infatuation with Chaos, by Jonathan Price
- They are her tentacles / Once again drawing him in / To her bed of infinite recursion
- Howling with Ginsberg, by Phil Wright
- In space too tiny to hold them / My mind too tiny to hold them / No way could I hold them / All in.
- Two Poems, by John Sweet
- rain / just after midnight / and the sound of / geese moving south
- To Atlantis, by S. R. Compton
- Great city, fabled isle, were you at the far end / Of the world, across the starry ocean, / As some aver? Or Krete's sister, / Now only a dead volcano's crater?
- Long Voyage, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- I visit your tube each watch that I'm off work / And there are many such; the years like leaves behind / us swirling / In our plasma trail. Have I aged well, you think? / I like to believe you do under your frost.
- The File of a Thousand Places, by Robert Randolph Medcalf, Jr.
- His filing system / Was cosmosophy / In action:
- The Canticles of Rage, by Bruce Boston
- across the atrium faces die to be heard / within the canons of the heart / no word is sacred
- The Big Bang Cycle, by Abbi Ball
- They often spoke of the seed / as they sipped from a dwindling supply of absinthe, / their words tumbling from absent-minded lips / into my hiding place behind the vent.
- The Wash of Moments, by Jason Lee
- The wash of moments, like stars / burned out near the beginning of time.
- Haystacks, by Lucy A. E. Ward
- In the slow creep of delirium / Johnny and Hoagy threatened / to loudly ruin our soft dehydration.
- Mathematics, by Jennifer Crow
- In a weak moment, the boy counts— / one body, two, a dozen / and he wonders if their ghosts / remember him. . . .
- Bone Flute, by Cenizas de Rosas
- silent music / notes falling into night
- Frank, by CAConrad
- "this daisy in my / mouth" Frank says / "is a snorkel / breathing / another / dimension"
- Mrs. Lincoln's Terror of Moths, by Ed Lynskey
- I rue / tigerish mandibles banqueting in my Saratoga-Carroll trunks—
- Troy: The Movie, by John M. Ford
- The motion for the Trojan's / From the goddess with the bodice, / The Greek who's got the grief / Is in the stew from the blue, / As they'll say in the talkie remake
- A Bestiary: Laughing Blood, by Tim Pratt
- This is the second poem in Tim Pratt's new mythological series.
- A Bestiary: Poor Bahamut, by Tim Pratt
- This week's poem is from a new series by Tim Pratt. It has everything good mythology needs—pain, hell and fish. Check next week for another in the series.
- Gravemaid, by Wendy Rathbone
- Witch in a torn lace smock / Goblin with spider-cobbed hair / Dryad hiding among fallen graves
- To Sleep, by Mark Rich
- people falling in twos, threes / by the office-load / by the building-full / to sleep
- Ice Magic, by Robert Randolph Medcalf, Jr.
- Our ship / Is fueled / By a deuterium / Iceball—
- Carnaval Perpetuel, by Sandra Kasturi
- While wanting a ball is not wanting a prince / the two seem to go hand in hand, / a kind of logarithmic function of desire and fulfillment.
- The Lesions of Genetic Sin, by Bruce Boston
- loosen your collar your tie
& let the bruised & bloodied vocabularies
of the urban night descend between
your cool shirt & warm belly
like hinged scraps of living meat
- Killers From the Light, Killers From the Heat, by Scott E. Green
- They come down from the light / that blinds / our eyes.
- The Eclipse, by Liz Henry
- As we are dying we reveal / ourselves. This is why / when I kiss you I close / my eyes sometimes.
- Why Norm Jones Never Feels Like He Gets Anything Done In A Day, by Russ Bickerstaff
- "Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear." / They could also be further away. . . .
- Muse Trap, by Tim Pratt
- Tonight I made a muse trap / and baited it with all her favorite / things. I left a trail of palm fronds / and cinnamon sticks and jelly beans
- Gargoyle Poems, by Michael Marsh
- There is / even the Ghost / of a Gargoyle / riding / his night colored mare.
- Had Been There, by Gustavo Alberto Garcia Vaca
- An instinct rose within / and she began to spin herself / in her dress of yellow, summered silk.
- Cryogenica, by Lee Ballentine
- were any blooms open this morning? / did the radio come on?
- Tombstone Tapestries, by Sandra J. Lindow
- At Our Lady of Perpetual Memory, / funereal fads can be followed for centuries.
- Slouching Towards Entropy, by Ann K. Schwader
- Not clean light, after all: not sweet atomic / absolution of our myriad sins / in one swift Lenten smear of ash, faint thumbprint / shadow on a shattered concrete sky.
- An Open Letter to Our Astronauts, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- I wonder about them, those brave explorers,
- Oracle, by Kendall Evans
- "Go," said the Oracle
- Threnody at Sea, by Mark Rudolph
- the ocean steals anything it wants: / bridges, ships, even entire cities; / then throws it all back—warped / and bleached, battered beyond recognition.
- Purified on the Only Visible Moon, by T. Emmett Mueller
- our footprints, / pristine, eternal, / mark paths of to and from.
- Historian's Guide to the Galaxy, by Derek Adams
- Brought into being / with a cosmic slap on the bottom. . . .
- The Franks, by CAConrad
- Frank hammers
- On the K-T Boundary, by S. R. Compton
- We have had many visions: / the world dried like a raisin, / cracked mudflats or windblown deserts / as far as a satellite's eye could see;
- A Crash Course in Lemon Physics, by Robert Frazier
- Here is a new poem from Robert Frazier, who is to SF poetry what Hugo Gernsback was to Science Fiction.
- Π in the Sky, by Joan Aiken
- Who'll solve my problem? asks the moon
- Down Below, by Joan Aiken
- There's a deep secret place, dark in the hold of this ship / A fine, private place, if one could get down there and hide
- The Fright Before Christmas, by S. K. S. Perry
- I sprang from my crypt, and ran to the window, / Looking for signs of that netherworld bimbo. / When what to my pustulant eyes should appear, / But a battered up sleigh, and eight rancid reindeer.
- Orpheus Among the Cabbages, by Tim Pratt
- A man's head rested among the cabbages. / He had black hair, and the kind of olive skin that / some women find exotic when they don't know / better. "I am Orpheus," he said.
- Gothic Romance, by Dave Whippman
- We have altered each other more thoroughly / Than moon or potions ever could. Tonight / The experiments in creating anger / Escaped control.
- The Golem, by Denise Dumars
- I'd wanted a muse, / but had created a monster.
- Dreaming Black Holes, by Sandra J. Lindow
- In the dream when I boiled, / skinned and ate Schrvdinger's kitten, / there was no uncertainty inside / the lidded aluminum kettle;
- Deconstructing Night, by Ann K. Schwader
- That one is sane & holy in our sight, / the other neither, merely seems to be / (on close analysis) a privileged view / of questionable worth.
- Reunion, by Lucy A. E. Ward
- They move in a slow wheel of devastation / dark sisters spinning with the grace of death. . . .
- Hibernal Cryodreams of Conquest, by Steve Sneyd and Gene van Troyer
- Will you be changed / when we stand upon alien bones / next planetfall, the new skies / yet again our own and / purified with our constellations?
- On Mars, by David Salisbury
- There isn't really life on Mars rather / existence, continuance along infinite lines / on the island suspended in black cold.
- In the Shade of the Tree of Knowledge, by Michael Chant
- Slowly, painfully, she turns to the window, / Glaring as her train passes through the city. / Despite knowing them as rapists who fancied themselves as gods, / It has become hard to frown at their straight-edged encroachment; / Success was found in failure.
- The Clouds, by Thomas M. Disch
- Slowly they graze the mountaintops, slow / Cows wandering home to their sunset— / Mildly anxious, leaking drops of milk / Into the monumental snow.
- Ballade of the New God, by Thomas M. Disch
- I'd worship me if I were you. / A new religion starts tonight!
- A Collective Invention Revisited, by Margaret B. Simon
- . . . a collective invention, half fish, half human. / Sucked dry by too many conventional seagulls / swooping, pecking at his exposed soul. . . .
- Embalmer, by Maryann Hazen-Stearns
- They bring their dead to me daily / Rich or poor they bring their dead
- Mask, by Tim Pratt
- I have come to find a new / face and body, a truer expression / than the one I see in the mirror.
- The Heat of the Moon, by Gary Lehmann
- It was a chill evening in fall. / He had moved his table of mirrors over to the open window / and bundled himself warmly against the cold night air.
- Venusian Cuisine, by Timons Esaias
- What do our colonists eat on Venus?
- Voodoo Corner Bus Stop, by Nancy Ellis Taylor
- I was holding / Black candles / And waiting / For a bus / That would never come
- A Gardener Betrayed by Roses, by Benjamin Rosenbaum
- Roses want to eat the ivy, / fill the oaks with blood. / They want kisses and hatred, / chocolate and vengeance;
- A Tale of Collaboration, by Marge Simon and Bruce Boston
- I open my fingers, drop the pen. / It bounces on the forest carpet, / lands on a trail of blood kisses.
- Beans, by Jody Wallace
- Gold chain man, faithless, nevertheless / worked harder to beat the beans / than he ever did to love Lynda.
- The God of the Crossroads, by Tim Pratt
- "You're waiting again," the god said in / the punkette's sexy-raspy voice. "What / are you waiting for?"
- accidental series, by Charles Coleman Finlay
- lights off. sit calm! sit calm! / begin our slow glissade into the tears / of heaven where we d(are not)rown
- Ghost Lakes, by David C. Kopaska-Merkel
- Deserts sometimes dream of water. . . .
- Passing Through, by Kurt Newton
- A fragment of a man in his car, hurtling headlong through time, a startled, curious look upon his face.
- If the Dead Must Speak, by Ward Kelley
- We miss our limbs, the splay / of arms, the limbo legs, the / inimate positioning of apertures / for sex;
- Icarus, by Wendy A. Shaffer
- Did he blame Daedalus, his father?
Who warned him not to fly too high
in the same distracted tones with which
he admonished his son
to put on a sweater in the cold,
to eat his lima beans,
to not run with scissors.
- Changing Masks, by John B. Rosenman
- A man sits at a table on the city's busiest sidewalk. His table is big and covered with masks, hundreds of them. People pass him in an endless stream, just as they have been doing for years.
- Grief, by Wendy Rathbone
- In the forlorn dark
- Surreal Domestic, by Bruce Boston
- I have a giant flea for a pet. / It has little dogs running around on it.
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