‘A ‘ssuta ru uaddone ‘carcinato.Teresa Armenti


Nun cia faciya cchiù
a fa ‘a vita ra rannato,
a send’ ‘u friddo ru cimendo
e ‘a puzza ra catrama ‘nanimarata

Mi so’ proprio stuffato
‘i esse scarpisato
ra sgummate ‘i rote
ra li passi ‘i li ‘mbriachi,
ra li chiacchire ‘a pirditembo Continue reading

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Cold Call. Luke Heeley


In the nightbound house, a phone rings.
It startles a puff of spores
from an orange whitening in the bowl.

Reverse charges from another spiral arm:
a voice without a body wants to talk,
it’s asking for your middle name.

The stars are sending a message
but their morse code will take
an accordion of universes to complete.

And when you throw your voice
through the open window, it too
will perish before it can reach

the one at the end of the garden
hunting by torchlight for the root of his tongue.

Government Warning. Richard Livermore


A naked boy slinks into view.
He’s beautiful and winks at you,
and you respond by kissing him.
Because it is desire’s whim,
he’s thewed and sinewed like a pard
and, next to you, feels very hard;
but there’s a giving in that boy
that makes to take a total joy.

But do not take him seriously;
his youth will vanish – as will he
once he finds your kisses pall;
he’s adolescent, after all;
and adolescence is a phase,
an interim of glory-days
to savour like the early Spring
and joys one kisses on the wing.