Category: Poetry
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Pardon the Interruption: Summer 2014 issue of In Parentheses is NOW AVAILABLE.
We apologize for the late release — but here we present the current issue of In Parentheses!
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The Slow Parade… by Brittney Bullock
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Leave afterword…by G. Mramor
Leave afterword and don’t speak my name. Say instead I was a good boy, a handsome boy. And then you’ll say he was and you won’t know how to say it anymore. Say he and sad see the boy in the velvet blue dress Danni put him in because you’re so pretty. See the boy…
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No Way To Anywhere – Scott Krave
Scott Krave can be found around Cleveland during the summer months and maybe somewhere else in the fall. He has been featured in various spots around the internet. He likes hanging around shops that serve cheap coffee and bake donuts in house. no way to anywhere no matter the depth of the holes dug into…
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Here there is no island dream…by G. Mramor
Here there is no island dream. There is the water and the beast Who follows me beneath. Beast Colossus, the one who does not Sleep but lives beyond me. Disperse like the snowdrift clouds. Silent like the long worn face disenchant in the stars. Undying like the lie spoke before me. Two holes…
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Speak me love…by G. Mramor
Love no hero. Love the giant that ripples your blood. Love the fray that hammers the nerve. Love the mouth that speaks your fever. Love the fracture in the bone. Love a broken axe. Love the cross you do not carry. Love the day you make with sand. Love a white bird in the snow.…
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Name: …by Brittney Bullock
I learned your name. It was new, it was yesterday. It was newness on my tongue. I couldn’t stop repeating the syllables, the first and the second. And yet I’ve still to learn the last! The name that could be mine someday; could be ours, in fact. So I practice and practice… You’re the…
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Cast this air into the night…by G. Mramor
Cast this air into the night. Author these words for the wind. Dream the dying dream. Fore there is no war made with wind. There is only this. Red knuckles biting with hoar. Thumbs dicking raw scabs. Pink hands peeling from the web. Fore the rose light soars this dreamflight. But no war…
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Homefree…by G. Mramor
I. Got drunk in the citysludge tonight. Ran the pockets lined with dough. Struck a poorman to his death and salvation. Regret the cigarette lost to a poker. Remember always that summer in november. Bronze days without remorse. Ugly throats for the hugging. Pruning babes for the sucking. Limp bodies for the fucking. Gather with…
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Snowblind…by G. Mramor
Burning snow and cold hands Black the dress wrinkled white Slumbring beasts and inverted eyes Snowblind the dreams hanging from the widow tree. Snowblind the naked doll bending down a wrinkled star. Snowblind the toy soldiers in the smoke of dreams. Snowblind falling this ruin the river runs in me. Somewhere snowblind my father sits…
