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Michelle Smith

MacArthur Park is dawning in the dark

And the military helicopters are flying in the skies 

To capture the illegal prey, camouflage wearing vultures searching for human food, flying them hurried in their feathered glass eggbeaters

Tyrannically powered, infused, blood, sweat, and tears, family and friends 

Separated into a future unknown forcefully a new city or state too.

A mom and her children Ripped away by the soldiers' headlines, soldier's helmets bobbing up and down fatigue wearing headlines, I see a lost infant's shoe

Where is the dignity, this is not living, I am not a fugitive, my family and I want ped a better life, now I'm running for it fervently, my kids, their abuela, and my wife

Westlake Pico Union of LA on 6th street and the tweakers

are at bay, 6th street to the north and 7th street to the south

Noisy blades towering over businesses 

Will running to the roof save your life in LA ciudad de Angeles?

Hiding behind a dumpster or running into a church is

No longer sanctuary safe. It's Monday and not all heroes wear capes. The pastor and his flock should not be arrested for their attempt to help us escape before all escalates

7th and Alvarado 

Pollo Campero is closed 

No Famous Star at Carl's Jr.

Subway eat fresh not today

Central America bloodlines

on every corner hawking 

and hustling en Espanol and indigenous 

dialects aromatic fare the stomach rumbled

for or the champu hair washes from

Economic boon gonk⁰ this summer day

Sign carrying protesters

continue their marches tirelessly

Egg beater helicopter hovering

over the Westlake MacArthur Park

Carondelet Street remotely a sidewalk

square mile

on the concrete 

11:20 a.m. military deployment, the LAPD at bay, on the July 7th, I can walk in under 5 minutes my neighborhood walk provides

an awesome amazing and antagonizing view

Surprisingly to tank or battering ram,

National Guard green helmets bobbing down the street, 

boots black buckled

running in unison as if on a track meet team

weapons 

gunning the wanted , hunted 

helmets 

bobbing down the heated street 

Sidewalk witnesses flooding the concrete 

Clydesdale horses with helmet wearing cops

Kids can't even play ⚽ Monday soccer instead with law and military, safely their playing field they must compete 

MTA bus detours such a royal pain

Hope you didn't have any routine or new business to conduct today

Mayor Kim Bass thank you 

Mary Langer Thompson

The Passing of the Remote

 

The nurse called me to pick up some items.

She’d meet me outside the emergency room

to give me that universal remote with which

you last watched Rizzoli and Isles.

 

On your last trip on that gurney,

when I thought you’d be returning,

you clutched it in your swollen fingers,

unseen by me or the ambulance drivers.

 

I laughed with the nurse when she handed me

the plastic bag, jumped into my car to get home

to wait for the call to pick you up again

in time, I hoped, to watch our nightly Jeopardy.

 

Now all my images are scrambled.

Channels change when screens go dark.

 

PJ Swift

The International Date Line

Along the International Date Line, in a far-off corner of the world, lies a tiny, remote patch of land with a small stone marker. Etched into the marker are the following words:

"Here lie the last remains of every second, every minute, every hour, and every day. Every month and every year meet their final end on this spot, never to be revived or experienced again."

Centuries later, after the calendar and the time zones had been revised to greater precision, this lost marker was believed to be obsolete. But the traditional burial sites of the days, months, and years remained, and through forces beyond human control, the final remains of these lost vestiges of time have continued to accumulate.

Since then, virtually no travelers have ventured into this long-forsaken site, but those who have managed to make the journey have been overwhelmed with vast primordial sensations of timelessness, nostalgia, and déjà vu, all rolled into a single, peculiar and unshakeable feeling.





The Mama

In a distant land, the people all revere and adore, The Mama.  In their remote, enclosed society,  every person harbors generational trauma passed on from a parent.  Each one of those parents carries their own trauma from their parents as well.  And so this lineage of generational trauma from progeny to progenitor travels all the way back to one singular person who unites them all, The Mama.  The Mama's likeness adorns all homes, public spaces and places of worship. All trauma and ancillary neurosis and accumulated anxiety starts with her.  In a way, this is all her fault.  And yet, they all love her so.  Without The Mama, their society would lose all bonds, all meaning, and all sense of identity. 

Andy Palasciano

Cookie

In the remote reaches of my mind,

I reach for the remote to turn the channel.

I am doom scrolling through

my mental landscape.

I hit “like” to that canyon

and a pensive emoji.

I come to a memory,

in my mind, of the movie “The Odyssey.”

I remember leaving the movie,

when it was over,

and thinking, “Maybe we should

stay until after the credits,

maybe Homer had a cookie

at the end of his original

manuscript, where the Avengers

come in from the multiverse

and make a joke that

has the crowd rolling,

and looking forward

to the next Homer-Marvel

joint venture.

Heather Romero-Kornblum

Adam (senryu)

lonely gingerbread 

man made of clay rib snapped 

for companionship

Poses of the Wind (circa 2012*):

1.

There are fish in the fountain that come up

for air every so often

they are red and orange and blue and move around

in a swish-swish motion

they don't even need to come up for air that often

they are able to filter in the water and produce it at will

2.

There is a tree I want to climb

to sit in between its branches

the breeze touches me

it is cold

there is a tall overgrown mouth-of-the-lion plant

budding yellow

I translate the name in my head directly from Hebrew

in this language that I write in it might not be called

mouth-of-the-lion

3.

There are glass panels and archways

stones that have not yet moved

it is cold

very cold

I observe how the stones don't seem to notice

this place could be deserted and I imagine

they wouldn't care

4.

I am the mover

I am not moved

I am the mover

If you block me off with stones

and trees and buildings and things

I cannot blow through and must circumvent

it still does not mean you can move me

I still choose whether or not

I blow through the corridor you have left for me

*Originally published in my collection Quantum Entanglement (2012).

R A Ruadh

Total eclipse

Perhaps it is time
to teach it morality
which would mean hiring 
tech people who have any

Unlikely as the owners
are completely deficient
wouldn’t recognize it
and those with it have quit

Even in a pure tech world
karma does however exist
thus if all humanity is gone
the data centres go dark

AI eliminates itself

A secrecy of stillness

I pulled over 
on the side of the road
it was time for a break

It was a desolate place
just some rocks
sand not much plant life

I turned off the engine
opened the door
unfolded a chair 

As I sat there in the sun
it seemed so quiet
no noises at all

Enjoying the silence
I leaned back 
only the wind whispering

Then I heard a skittering
over by the rocks
it was the sand blowing

Or was it a lizard
stopping and starting
a small one for sure

The wind had a language
talking through the grasses
conversing with a bird

The sun shifted
the shadows changed 
as did the sand and pebbles

I could tell what was lizard
what was a dried seed pod
each travelling their own way

My car blinded ears
adjusted gently to a new world
of unsilent silence

Until it was time to go
and the engine starting
sounded like a roar from hell