I have the ability to read poetry from all corners of the world, Africa, India, and weird ass places like Florida and forgotten northern towns of California. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. As much as I complain about it, it’s truly a gift that I am allowed this.
The following issue has some really strong poems that, by themselves, stand alone as great pieces of testimonial art; but together they paint an amazing worldly portrait, as most of the poetry issues do–if, by chance, you haven’t noticed.
Poets are everywhere, fortunately or unfortunately. Now, the true task of the poet is to paint the truth (motherfucker shoulda been a painter then, huh?!) in such a way that its nakedness startles us; its rawness disgusts or offends; its remarkable accuracy enrages us; and if that doesn’t work, the poet should lie to us so well that we, in turn, applaud his or her malicious and honed skills.
won’t someone think of the janitors
By Leeroy Berlin
i can only imagine that joe wasn’t pleased
about how it went down
i know that was his favourite picture of
himself with that tranny hooker
off the five
he had framed on the walls
not a bad looking girl
i think they might be related (more…)