I see a king as light as a feather held on to by the teeth of wolves. The wind does nothing to him. The spittle is his joy. He is held so tightly by their sharp attention that it must at certain panicking points feel like real love meant to make his struggle valiant. He is a real man. That is his blood. If it’s not his blood, then this story is really fucking dark.



The secrecy isn’t cruel. The secrecy is a misplaced mercy. We have written down the names of so many people that would prefer us to be dead or at least gone. We have chanted some of those names. The secrecy is an animal without bones. It’s useless, but it’s important if we’re going keep the fear that gives us these names.



Don’t let them separate your nerves. They’re poking you to divide you. Accept that this is painful. Challenge their fingers!


My poems have appeared, or are scheduled to appear in numerous magazines/journals, including the South Dakota Review, Meridian, New Letters, Diagram, and the Colorado Review.

I am the author of six poetry collections, most recently “Many Full Hands Applauding Inelegantly” (2016, 8th House Publishing). I am the Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology and Ovenbird Poetry.

I am currently living and writing in Columbus, Ohio with my wife and children.

Copyright © 2017 by Darren C. Demaree


A.J. Huffman… Suicidal in the Morning, I Am Burning, Ritual of Forgetting



I Mostly Feel Suicidal in the Morning

when the sun is shining its harshest eye through
blinds that never completely close. Dark thoughts
flare in response to such unwelcome disruption
of elusive sleep. Blinking in attempt to erase
spots that erupt in rapid response to violated
vision, I imagine overly aggressive rays as gold-
plated sword. Ceremoniously, I desire to thrust
myself against such precisely honed blades.

I Am Burning

with desire to touch something
I cannot imagine, something beyond
the extensive stretching of my own
imagination. I need to believe there is
existence outside of my pyre, an innocent
world unscarred by suffocating
ink and ash.


The Ritual of Forgetting

I pushed rewind and one
by one the walls of my mind were
vacated. I had become
a waiting room for shifting
silence. I stripped off my skin,
watched as night trickled down
insanity’s drain. The loss
burned with its own life,
and for a few moments so did I.
Finally, exhaustion settled in, and I
embraced the monotonous lack
like a child, no longer
afraid of the dark.

A.J. Huffman has published thirteen full-length poetry collections, fourteen solo poetry chapbooks and one joint poetry chapbook through various small presses. Her most recent releases, Degeneration (Pink Girl Ink), A Bizarre Burning of Bees (Transcendent Zero Press), and Familiar Illusions (Flutter Press) are now available from their respective publishers. She is a five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of Net nominee, and has published over 2500 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, The Bookends Review, Bone Orchard, Corvus Review, EgoPHobia, and Kritya. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. http://www.kindofahurricanepress.com.

Copyright © 2017 A.J. Huffman









Matthew Casey… Untitled Remembrances of an Eye



Untitled Remembrances of an Eye — A Penhead Press Reprint

"Urban Refugee Camp" Copyright © 2013 by Matthew Casey

“Urban Refugee Camp” Copyright © 2013 by Matthew Casey



"Flash Bomb Ignition" Copyright © 2013 by Matthew Casey

“Flash Bomb Ignition” Copyright © 2013 by Matthew Casey



"Issue 3 Cover Art" Copyright © 2013 by Matthew Casey | Also a RAPoetics Issue 3 Contributor

“Issue 3 Cover Art” Copyright © 2013 by Matthew Casey | Also a RAPoetics Issue 3 Contributor


Matthew Casey is a photographer. He was engaged in the art of snapping of pictures long before he knew it would become his passion, having traveled around the world visually documenting people and places where few outsiders have ventured. If you wish to see more samples of his work or employ his services visit his website: Matthew Casey Photography!









Erick Ai Slippersan… Markov Chain Text


—Markov Chain Text—

Take heed, the quarrel’s most ominous to the world’s end?
None but the case of woe.
I know not what the best Worthy.
Fair ladies mask’d are roses in their garments though new-fangled ill:
Some in their acts.
Nay, he can make a shambles of the guard
It strikes me past care.
It may do something.
Are not Those in commission with me.
O, let me know this lady?
My lord, I know not where he calls, then he speaks not true.
Worse than a cup of sack?
Now are we not in here, These people saw the Prince.
Sir, I cannot move.
Was Caius Lucius in the lake of darkness.
Well bandied both; a set Shall strike his wife!
O’ life! not life, but in the tub.
You are a councillor, And by the very naked name of love.
I’ll run him up who dares.
Whose do you call your faith in heaven.
Yet read the book of life, And choke their art.

Creating the markov prose generator is an exploration in creating original content from existing books. simply put, a text copy of a book is converted to random markov sentences. those sentences are arranged into poetry. I experimented with stanza and haiku with some surprising results.

This subject first caught my eye when twitter users reported a rump bot. this bot would take tweets from one feed and create a new original post. these posts would read as if it was the real mump.

Markov chains are not a new invention but have come to us in new easy to use python packages.



Copyright © 2017 by Erick Ai Slippersan