The Walk: It's 5:34 am, October 31st, 2027. Tonight is Halloween, and there's a ragged chem-snow falling, as white feathers out of a busted pillow. Quiet... it falls in slowly, motion shaken out of its slip by an unseen hand. Grey toxic zigzag clouds, have us locked down, and caged in, and away from the sunlight, going on a month now. It is terrible how much you can miss the sun -- the heart can ache for its light like a lover.

Poem: What Next!

Poem: What Next!

 Eight-carbon molecules in rivers of waste, and the sun in a sack cloth hauls itself up again into the sky. And looks down in disgust at what was...a good idea.


I was there in the first hour on the first morning.
The air clear and about all, and never breathed before,
never seen and cool and soothing about my face.
And I looked up
And the sun and the moon fell in love as I watched.
She sat, as a blushing pearl against Cerulean blue.
And I turned, and my father's light shone into my eyes.
I walked along and watched it all wake, from a long and cold dark sleep.
Further on I saw eleven great birds in flight...
and wondered about their defiance of the ground and the air.
How had they separated themselves from all the rest?
That air first breathed deep returned warm from my lungs,
and caused a mist to drift about my mouth...


Rushed in wet wool, mad mud underfoot...
Left the house at three, it was dark and I was heart-dipped in honey
Courage and other belongings stuffed in an old pillowcase,
my mother's swollen eyes and her smothered kisses

It is the sickness that is the worse for me, moving always moving
I drown in this smell, of vomit and the urine.
I am so afraid...I have never been this afraid

I tremble and am banged about the broken world outside of me
It is always the same

POEM: The Convent Burned down last night.

The convent burned down last night. It's end had already started with collapse, in forgotten areas of the building... and waterlogged ceiling, and weakening sections of the roof. Caved to slowed fall. Wallpaper peeled as like old skin -- walls were surrendering to age and the mold. The ghostly revenants that occupied it for the many decades were forced to ascend and reach for heaven's gate. I stepped on careful legs, bearing witness of its dying. Parts gave up, like vital organs surrendering to exhaustion...


A thousand years inside a stone, at the bottom of a frozen...lake.

Glacier slow the earth reactors warmed it,

the sun dried up the lake.

New green showed it's tender leaves.

And crowding in around, and thought it theirs.


Years flicker in time, like bubbles in clear glass.

Images from one brief life, onto the next.

I've lived a life of just one day and lived also a hundred years...


... I have reached a measure of greater understanding of who I am, and am proud of my abilities, the skills and talents I have had to achieve just to remain off the street and not a homeless man. To have taken advantage fully of the many gifts personally, but have not achieved the success in those that I should have had, all those that were given, along with the emotional baggage and emotional immaturity and insecurity and weirdness sometimes that I can be. I am a greater artist even though, condition stopped me from painting. I have made many inroads into music and my guitar and carpentry and working with my hands; my writing of poetry and storytelling which has helped me to develop a way into my own mind and find out where I falter with language. I am an obsessive dictionary reader, always unsure of my use of the language...


by Michael Burns

The newsies and the match girls, and the breakerboys in back.

They toiled away their little lives to keep their mamma's happy.

Six days a week they left their youth inside the warmth you purchased, and easy reads from newsie feeds that salted your accounts...


Eight-carbon molecules in rivers of waste, and the sun in a sack cloth hauls itself up again into the sky. And looks down in disgust at what was…a good idea.

These mayfly lives, passing through and piling up, one upon the other as sediments on the basement of this world. Built up in that wake of seconds upon seconds. Relent.

Red cushion for a place to sit, amidst rancor. Nihilism for a heart, and reluctance. And crazed mystics still keep pushing shopping carts up hills of abuse...

ANGELA LOIJ: The Selk’nam Genocide

Today my mind is occupied with strange thoughts, they don't seem to be my own...I have written this tale before only to delete it. Out of some sense of shock or disbelief. Shame. Maybe pain at how outrageous we are as a species. Maybe because I didn't want to remember something like this...or possibly it stimulates my imagination to wonder how many times this has happened, in the past; long forgotten tribes of people wiped out in genocides for the sake of progress and the industrialization of the world. And will it continue to happen. In my lifetime there have been the genocides by forced drought on African people, and so they die of starvation. There have been illegal wars like that of Iraq which has killed a million of the citizens of that country, and the purposeful brutal and bloody genocide in Rwanda in the mid nineties....