A Sunrise Poem Outside Chennai / Madhan Raj


நெருப்பிலிருந்து மேலே பார்க்கிறேன் /
பாதி உதயமான சூரியனுக்கும் பின்னும் /
மீண்டும் /

சூரியனின் குளோப்ஸ் என் பார்வையில் ஒட்டிக்கொண்டது /
ஆரஞ்சு பழம் போல, /
வறுத்தவுடன் கொழுப்பு கொண்டது

               – பெருஞ்சித்திரனார்


Looking up from the fire /
to the globbed red sun and back, /
and again, and back: /

with half-suns stuck to my vision /
like tangerines /
fat with roasting.


Madhan Raj lives and works in his native Chennai, after studying and working for several years in Italy. Returning home this year, he has discovered again the great cultural wealth of his home, and language, Tamil.

Cigarette / Apple by Shane Ingan


Now comes the temptation
to quest after essences,
to lift the veil and
uncover what is hidden—
puff : headrush ::
crunch : honeyed tongue
smoke and sweetness, I
manipulate them, combine
them, then place them
at odds with one

another puff, another crunch.
It becomes me, the way I talk
about such things, I am told—
“attractive” “penetrating” “poignant”—
I furrow my brow, I say something
about the nature of smoke and about
sweetness, this satisfied smile
as I puff on my cigarette
then crunch into my apple,
chew, savor, comment upon
the eye that has opened up, revealing
the core: a little black seed visible now.

O Vanity: I was lost before
I ever began. Butt : core ::
Self : object of contemplation

The velvet cloak has been folded
over upon itself, its span
unaltered, its magic immune
to such feeble incantations.

I huck the apple core out into
the tall grass, the cigarette butt
smush into the ashtray,
the smoke and the sweetness
dry on my tongue.

Shane Ingan is from Indiana and lives in Detroit. His first book of poetry, Lost Loves, will be released early 2023, through Forsythia Press.

I Shall Remember Death / Eugene Kamensky


I shall drink my morning coffee, Lord,
In relation to death. The bubbles on
The black brim pile like spiders’ eyes, and I am in them.
Death is like a fat spider, hiding.

I shall wipe my brow of sweat, my Abba,
With your Kingdom ever in my thoughts.
Death is like a frail man, his head hung,
Meekly tugging shirtsleeves, as for alms.

My Christ, it seems too hard to be a man.
I will lie down half forever when I’m done,
Or crawl about you, sobbing hallelujahs.
Death is like a dancer on a roof.

I shall not forget him. He is bright,
Like the sun. You make him bright for me.

Eugene Kamensky is a divinity student at the Detroit Baptist Theological Seminary. He has been long inspired by Gerard Manley Hopkins’ masterful use of poetry to praise and exalt God in secular spaces, and he hopes to follow in those footsteps.

yes more covers


Denver has really good used bookstores and many of them


Iowa is a nightmare. Iowa City is a nightmare within one. Some DLM covers

I hope that some Iowans read this because I want them to know it. I hate Iowa


it’s coming along. i’m getting back to all the submissions these days. Collecting for volume 4 now. Been in the desert for 40 days can’t wait to go home (but not before I put these lit mags in all the used book stores from Pheonix back to Detroit)