Camilo Loaiza Bonilla (he/him) is a Latine writer working to unwind generational silence and trauma as a queer, trans, first-generation immigrant. A Macondista, he is pursuing his MFA at the ...
back to back by Camilo Loaiza Bonilla
Electronic Lit, Poetry
are the terrible builders of the stars. In this falseparsing,I seated myself inhis terrace all wrong. In the golden dust of our toppledtowers, once-real, the scaffoldedreturn of petals, vines, trumpets, nectar guides. ...
Bees by Marcus Myers
LAR Online, Poetry
She will not tell me about my death.Outside is a blue Asheville sky and the blue mountains one always sees— except here in the psychic’s small bone-chilled room. She says my mother is proud of me, and my father ...
ELEGY WITH PSYCHIC by Maja Lukic
LAR Online, Poetry
Every ridgeof this whitesheet is onemore form myskin leaves nomark on.Scarved necks infrost don’t keep copy ofmy clamp prints.Quiet cling of line to page only presses open more space. Remember me. Pursed lips.I will ...
Thirteen and a half attempts to kiss you by Mary Zhou
Poetry
Somewhere in a second storyapartment above a bakery or antique store,a shard of lightilluminates three verses from the apocryphalBook of Judith. Yesterday, a young womanpaused in her reading exactlywhere Judith raised ...
What If the Story Does Not End? by Lynn Domina
LAR Online, Poetry
Angela Mendoza is a Chicana, Central American-American writer hailing from the Bay Area in Northern California. She recently graduated from the MFA program at San Diego State University, where she ...
Blue by Angela Mendoza
Electronic Lit, Poetry
I take myself as a child to the movies, and when I fall for the illusion, as rain that falls into the streets on screen, I forget. After all, the score is huge, and the blacktop sizzles like a house on fire. A boy is ...
Book of Dolls 15 by Bruce Bond
LAR Online, Poetry
There was a thrum of music, and even now, it is playing,as the dusk turns purple like a woman. A friend tellsme of the moment when he first spottedthe one he would love. She stood, he says, silhouettedby a sky whittled ...
November nights by Loisa Fenichell
LAR Online, Poetry
It could be yesterday
I was standing in the yard
with three joints, folding
my hands over them
in a kind of prayer,
lighting one
after another to toke
deeply ...
I Almost Forget by Matthew Nienow
LAR Online, Poetry
