Public Republic

Ted Richer Photo: mikebaird do you know Mia from Bulgaria … if you know Mia from Bulgaria

Chungyen Chang Photo: jantik I splattered my words on shattered sky and it felt right ten tons of thoughts incoherent held on and scraped clouds with jagged fingernails

Suzanne Nielsen Photo: tsk Toby Walker’s remains were packed away until his teretoma twin could travel the 100 miles it would take to hold them before releasing them to the wheat fields later that upcoming year after the ground unfroze and the birds horded ashes for their nests.

Ralph Pluim Photo: tanakawho The sun seems to bring light trees are leaving mist a home and there is an echo from machines

Melissa Guillet Photo: santarosa I look at the web of hair  Slowing the flow of water  Down the drain  Queen Anne’s lace looks the same 

Chuck Clenney Photo: jesuspresley I forgot about snow And so much more Until Old Man Winter Came knocking at my door.

Stanislava Stanoeva Photo: extranoise free to choose my self covered with sky as with a human skin I’ll mark the road for the innocent one for him to reach the lies

Christopher Mulrooney Photo: misserion here’s the particularity in a great system of thought it reaches down into a pants pocket and fishes up a dime or maybe two nice new dimes

Kenneth Pobo Photo: djsubotage Death is my paper boy. I better remember to tip him. Over.

Joy Ladin Photo: katietegtmeyer You wipe the woman off your face. She comes away In ochre smears. Traces cling To your lids and lips. You wipe

Aksinia Mihailova Photo: ganmed64 I have been learning how to kite like I have been learning how to be a mother since yesterday, since ever, thirteen years have passed. I can’t do it – neither books, nor people’s advice do help.

Suzanne Nielsen Photo: gregloby Willow whimpers at the bon mot feeder while holding a dip stick that confirms the results: a fertilized copper egg rests in the blue jean seams while Tull is at the trough with snot running down his nose.

Donal Mahoney Photo: arwen-abendstern white hips a soft fist for the wrist of your waist black hair in a spill on your shoulders small whirlpools your ankles

Joy Ladin Photo: vincepal Put that life down. Life is not a knife. No one Eats with a life and a fork. That isn’t blood On its edge. Life has No edge. Life is too dull. Is neither serrated

Yassen Vassilev Photo: popelegantiarum O crazy royal jester O crippled circus clown O sad harlequin without company O fool of funerary carnivals O crumpled joker without deck

Suzanne Nielsen Photo: gabu-chan Upon the release from the workhouse Janeen Marie and Loren followed up on a gig that was promised to them before their incarceration. Within 17 hours they were working for pay as Macy’s elves, although neither held the name of Crumpet. When asked what names had been assigned to them they […]

Иван Кулеков Ivan Kulekov За да не се разпадне светът, една птица зашива водата за земята.   So that the world will not fall apart, one bird stitches the water to the earth.   Ще се местя. Или от тук там, или от там тук.   I will relocate. Either from here there, or from […]

Kenneth Pobo Photo: ktylerconk merely trees of possibilities” sang Marc Bolan, but what happens when the forest is clear cut and bulldozers sleep it off on rotting stumps?

Eunice Blavascunas Ph.D. Photo: anyjazz65 This limb The one with digits never used for counting Sees out its elbow Hears with small hairs That come into contact with your sleeve My skin is peopled

Jerry Ratch Photo: chefranden A canister of unused laughter taken from the mouth of a baby not yet born A splinter of wood from a cross, perfectly preserved in dark tea taken from the belly of a dead Irishman A milky vial of smog taken from the air of Los Angeles circa 1965 A lock […]