ASYLE, by Zoran Mimica

Asyle – and this is not a poem – this is a demand

I want to see the world or even a village, a town, a province if not a state
where there are no drugs, no cigarretes, no cigarette buts, no smoke
and no smoking and no abuse of drugs and alcohol and no violence……

Please let me know where is any available? Can I, maybe, establish it or I have to wait for the Kingdom of God to enter into it?

Is there question or answer? Angels help me!
I accept illnesses and old age and dying but not the above items? Why we cannot live and die without pain and longing, without desperation and sorrow?

Letter to Solitude, by Jiji Schemann

Lettre à la solitude

Quand tu es née, on ne se comprenait probablement pas. Je te parlais sachant bien que tu étais là en moi, Je tentais de t’écouter de l’intérieur mais ce n’est qu’après quelques mois que je réussi à me connecter avec toi et recouvrer le sens de mes émois.
Tu m’as donné quelques coups tu parfois, mais seulement parce que tu étais en quête d’un espace temps, un endroit où écoute et protection feraient foi d’un foyer légitime, un genre de toit
Et maintenant tu vois, j’ai fait quelques échographies de mon surmoi, J’ai tendu l’oreille vers ce cœur qui bat, Et j’ai saisi la valeur de ta présence ici-bas
Chère Solitude, saches que je serai toujours là pour toi Et un jour tu t’émanciperas de tout ce qui, et ceux qui autour de toi font tout un cinéma De ce que tu es, qui tu seras, tu leur offriras un fier schéma De ce qu’est être Soi, à minima.

Letter to Solitude

When you were born, we probably did not understand each other. I was talking to you knowing that you were there inside me, I tried to listen to you from the inside, but it was only after a few months That I was able to connect with you and regain the meaning of my emotions.
You gave me a few blows sometimes, But only because you were looking for a space of time, A place where listening and protection would be a sign of a legitimate home, a shelter to shine.
And now you see I’ve done some ultrasounds of my superego; I’ve turned my ear to this beating heart, And finally grasped the value of your presence here below…
Dear Solitude, know that I will always be there for you And one day you will emancipate yourself from all these, and all those who around you Will make a whole cinema of what you are, who you will be, you will offer them a proud schema Of what it is to be your own Self, with no dilemma

Carta a la soledad

Cuando naciste, probablemente no nos entendíamos. Te hablé sabiendo que estabas ahí en mí, intenté escucharte desde dentro, Pero sólo después de unos meses pude conectar contigo Y recuperar de mis emociones su significado
Me diste algunos golpes a veces, pero sólo porque buscabas un espacio de tiempo, Un lugar donde la escucha y la protección darán fe de un hogar legítimo, una refugio.
Y ahora verás, he hecho algunos ultrasonidos de mi superego, He vuelto mi oído a este corazón que late, Y he captado el valor de tu presencia aquí abajo…
Querida Soledad, sabe que siempre estaré ahí para ti Y un día te emanciparás de todo eso, y los que te rodean harán todo un cinema De lo que eres, de lo que serás, les ofrecerás un orgulloso esquema De lo que es ser « Yo », sin dilema

POETRY READING: Cosmogony, by Iuliana Pașca

Performed by Allison Kampf

I would like to tell you about my birth
but how to start with no beginning?

Mother said I was born
ahead of my time;
I don’t remember,
but I know I was there when
I also gave birth to my mother.

I saw when from the heart
the galaxies
gushed streamingly,
suns were smiling on the spine
rasing satellites
from the tireless breath.
Neurons formed stars
in the rainbow hair,
while Mars was preparing
for the fight.

From the fingers of the left hand
it detached,
together with the rings, Saturn
then, as lightning,
Jupiter came out of nowhere,
and to my feet
was lying down
the Earth.

The Aura of a Being, by Andrea Irigoyen Paez

Soul that blows
stripping the wishes
from dark corners.
You light up the passions.
From a horizon,
infinite and mysterious.
Only God created you.
Those who swim to you,
they discover
the essence of being.
As the autumn leaves fall,
You’re lighting up the hope.
And when
the eternal winter comes,
You whisper,
look at around you.
Be the aura
of what was once,


I release this viral blue funk
sometimes dark thing
in my soul.
It haunts me
from time to time.

Release this loneliness
that feeds my blues.
Not lonely all the time
sometimes it just appears
out of the blue.
Does it feed my blues?
Does that blue funk
feed my loneliness?

I release this obsession
that comes upon me too
what I’ve said or done.

I release this obsession
that comes upon me I release
this obsession that comes
I release this obsession.

I sit too much
at the computer
and watching movies
and reading
or just
wasting time.
I release all that.

Often I want forgiveness
for things I’ve said or done
I must give forgiveness
without expectations
of return.

I receive friendship
it is not easily
given away.

I receive smiles
and those
I can reciprocate

I try to understand
how other people feel
put myself in their shoes
feel their perspective
I get pissed off that they
do not understand.

With all these things
I know
I must lead by example
be open-minded
without expectations.

It is springtime
despite the snow and rain
and today’s cold damp air
hovering around my soul.

Yet it is time for Spring
Spring delayed
Spring postponed
but not canceled.

It will come.

Bonded, by Dominique Marks

Dear O,

I hope you’re well. Hope the family’s well also. I think of you often.. more so because of the uncertainty these days bring. Sometimes I’m happy.. sad.. mad or horny. But I’m hurt. Not because things ended but your denial of it all. I hate that I let you in. It’s so hard for me to do that and I often feel regret because I knew better. I understand that one experience— is just that an experience. When you looked at me— I smiled because deep down I knew. A moment. A season.. deep within. But in knowing, I’m still so traumatised that I don’t know how to yell. I’m trying though, learning.

~ dmo

DEATH OF NOISE, by Shiela Denise Scott

You play music,
No respect for the silent type,
You own the blocks peace,
Thug life,

You deal to the fiends,
Turning corners at all times,
Loudly they scream,
Interrupting peace of mind,
Gang life never resigns

Prosperously you push luxury,
The struggling mother lost sleep time,
Riches you gain from others losing their minds,
Causing spirits to Rebel with no peace signs

Darkened by midnight,
No one lights up your face,
But the next lost soul,
Who lost their faith,
Another mishap,
Confusing their fate
Another angel,
Misguided by devils’ gates

Trapped in a neighborhood,
Forced by salary resided citizens, and crime,
Gunshots ring my memory,
Visual fights disturb the mind,
Noise raises its volume,
Addiction praises its find,
Screams of yesterday echo,
Into the shadows of moonlight…

Help me find silence!


random forests, by Mark Tiegs

we are in the random forests
we are. leo. adele. Ho[4][5] and Amit and German [6] in order (Fujitsu now)
we are random forests
we are decision trees. tree bagging (Main article: Bootstrap aggregating)
predictions for unseen samples x’ can be made by averaging the predictions
from all the individual regression trees onx’
we are from bagging to random forests
we are in the 7000 oaks
we are documenta 7 (joseph beuys)
we are 7000 oaks
we are the basalt stones pointing to the oaks
predictions for unseen situ (situationist international (not regression trees))
we are from random forests to 7000 oaks

If Walls Could Talk, by Christopher Kent

If walls could talk,

they’d hear a man

breathing all alone

as he stares longingly

out the window

watching a young robin

build her cozy nest

for a family quickly coming.

If walls could talk,

they’d hear the shuffle

of routine feet

assisting the man

from the chair to bed

and back again,

and the barrage of insults

issuing from a man

exhausted from sitting

for so long.

If walls could talk,

they’d hear an old man

fumble with his phone,

punching in the only

number he knows,

waiting and hoping

to hear her voice.

“Maybe tonight,”

they hear him whisper,

but they know the truth,

that number’s been

disconnected for three years

and it’s only the dementia

keeping the old man’s

love and drive alive

in this quiet nursing home.

If walls could talk,

they might say,

“I’m sorry

your robin’s flown away,

but it’s ok to let go

and fly too”

I understand why you died tonight, by Joel Schueler

I understand why you died tonight
why the devil grew his tail
as your mind became frail,
why the sky mistook him for an angel.

Vienna and Bruges, and all that is smooth —
when toe meets foreshore;
dark chocolate, the Louvre.

Of nard and koi, and all that is joy —
sparkling streams of cygnets,
hard liquor, soft toys.

And now for the news.

Lead ties to shank
surfeit from the crapulous,
there are those who wait for the
summer to fall
there are those who act
when tablet mountain calls,

who torched the trellis
watched the wind make it crawl

it’s hard when no-one knows
where no-one goes
behind your wall.