bart plantenga & Paloma Jet

Excerpt number 3 from Radio Activity Kills, by bart plantenga & paloma jet DJ Kees flees Amsterdam under mysterious circumstances with teen daughter, Alouette. A new life in the USA leads to an obligatory hitchhiking road...

Robert C. Hardin

9/11/01: 8:54 a.m. My shift has ended and I’m sitting at my computer, finessing a letter to Swedish musician, Tomas Pettersson. Looking out of an eighteenth-story window off Maiden Lane, I notice what might have passed ...

Jürgen Schneider

Amy Winehouse staggers in shortly before midnight. It doesn’t go without notice how unwell she is. Amy will be DJ’ing. There is a yellow shimmer to her skin and her skinny body looks more fragile than ever, her hands ...

Max Blagg

I was introduced to John Ashbery's poetry in the summer of 1971, by a beautiful young American poet living in London. We met at a church jumble sale in Belsize Square. Her flat was across the street. I woke up on her couch l...

Patrick O'Neil

There is nothing easy about turning sixty. The days whip by in a whirlwind, kids look younger, and you can’t understand what they’re even talking about. Cops, bosses, and doctors could be your daughters and sons. Films a...

Marc Olmsted

It was the end of the 80s into 1990 and very hard for us to find a good rock n roll dance club in San Francisco. Everything was disco electronica and it all sounded the same with that amyl nitrate bass beat. The more inter...

Jack Hirschman

VLADIMIR MAYAKOVSKY You, thunderer and swirl of the flag of blood and roses, kneader of the bread of poem, deathless comrade of dithyramb and liberty, you whose suicided life I carry as a forge, ...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

IN THIS DREAM We are always dancing: you lift your arms above me like a bird in a summery place. Sometimes there is music and the softest shadows; other times the air carries us through the rhythm of tall, flat buil...

Peter Orlovsky

Snail Poem Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired & handsome felt, Grave root pillow, tung up from grave & wigle at blown up clowd. Ear turnes close to underlayer of green felt moss & sound o...

Jenny Seymore Montgomery

i. Pluto and Uranus. Shadows overhead at my birth during another nuclear test. Soon I will be blown across the kitchen by a toaster, blacken bulbs, sit in pits of Mount St. Helens’ ash, grieve the bulldozing of ever...

Harlan Ellison

Limp, the body of Gorrister hung from the pink palette; unsupported—hanging high above us in the computer chamber; and it did not shiver in the chill, oily breeze that blew eternally through the main cavern. The body hung ...