Photograph by Mike Gutkin

The Arbor Hollows

So what, leaves scurry across Madison Square Park’s stoned paths. Unbending characters as they fall through the air. Too dead already to leave a cicatrice upon their wombs, They find themselves again alive in the afterlife Giving voice to loneliness. And the wind itself, which kindly aborts leaves Before their deciduous infects the trees, Maintaining its cyclic taunting, As does[…]

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Gia Lisa Krahne


A voice once told me of my beloved. It told me my final path was through relationship, that transcendence or peril would be mine through some Other. This declaration of coming union sent me nearly mad! Propelled by flame and disbelief, I barreled back into the fountain of prophecy. All the while remembering that from my mother’s womb there dawned[…]

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"Last Resorts" a poem

Last resorts

In seasons we are, little but ourselves straining our strangers through mirrors, and emerging again, as neat shards of retractable dust. We poof, we pout, we paint. And still we end up looking the same, at the legends of same, in the blood of same, from the heartbreak of same. Sometimes the nights move into days before we have the[…]

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