by Rochelle Roberts || The forest, large-eyed, dank and disordered.
The magpies warbled to tell us come out
Rochelle Roberts You, with teeth and white boredom,tangled in my sheets, your fingers stuffed inside, as though you think I might enjoy it. I pretend to be a hollowed-out tree, bear-furred around the wound, yourprofile reminding me of old grievancesrattling around my head like loose teeth. I hate the coldness of your lips on myindifferent skin. My body sinks [...]
Manisha Chummun I wish I could begin a painting of her. I grabbed a paint brush. Too bad, I'm just a poet with clumsy hands. I figured out her paradox, The girl who can suffuse La Dolce Vita, Bringing colors and sweet scents to a nondescript workplace, also has the blatant appeal of a Chiaroscuro art composition. Here I am, sitting [...]
Yuan Changming Sure, I would paint my skin Into a colorless color, & I would dye my hair Wear two blue contacts, & I would even Go for plastic surgery, but if I really do I assure you, I will not remove my native village Accent while speaking this foreign tongue (I began To imitate [...]
You are green tea and gentle hands in the morning.
the archeologist demands a beginning ––
He found her in the wood, he said
and then the confession.
Punctuating Space; and China Lake