Exterminating Angel Press

Creative Solutions for Practical Idealists.

EAP: The Magazine Archive

Hourly.

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by John Grey.

The hour is strung out worse than me,
in the remains of night’s gutter.
And sleep’s a disease I can’t quite catch,
so I lie here, part solitary,
part every restless human being extant.

Sheets and blankets fall off me like old lovers.
The pillow squeezes my skull.
Thoughts bust through the sides of my head.
I reel them in as best I can,
before they scatter into morning.

 That’s where the day
gangs up with sunlight,
widens my tired eyes,
shakes down what’s left of me.

 

 

 

 

Inklings.

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by Diana Morley.   Wonder bread pulls me back like a mayo jar taunting of a baloney sandwich in a lunchbox from my ever-doing mom providing only the best for us three times a day. A whiff of cardamom brings my husband for whom I braided and baked the loaf— saffron rice for my daughter, […]

Mind Swoosh.

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by Bruce Wallick.   As the view unfolded As the sun shed light As the breeze wove Soft flowing patterns I glided through the grasses My feet so light so fleet As if taking off into the blue Gently warming to the view Solely the sound of the whooshing Wind that moved across the knoll […]

The Music of Dreams.

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by Barry Vitcov.   Before meeting one lonely evening, before our lives had completely begun, before we knew little of anything, before accepting how to love or shun, our lives were separate, invisible, like shapeless clouds adrift in darkened skies, our stories not easily admissible and always firmly protected by lies. There you sat, an […]

Ukrainian Fruit Stands Have Disappeared.

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by JW James.   my grandfather is still sitting on the curb   his feet in the traffic lane   his feet that are waiting for a bus my Ukrainian grandpa has disappeared with his breath of boilermakers   his breath of the land of his birth muck and mire city of his birth Ternopil memory of his […]

A Lacanian Poem.

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by Michael T. Smith.   I cited Lacan to make a poem: novelty, in which everything is a slave, who further lacks everything but desire. To meet the unconscious yet living WORD like a myth that turned out to be Real — Another Lacanian term (as told by the “five” real senses, unlike the object […]

Why I Write about Dreams and Dogs (from “My Life with Dogs”).

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by Tod Davies. When I was a very small child, I heard voices. They would sound directly in my ear. I knew they were inside, rather than outside, but that didn’t trouble me, as I understood they were helpful. The voices warned me not to tell the adults. They said my parents, especially, wouldn’t understand, […]

Laughing Sal.

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by Laura Roman. On a Saturday night, if you find your way into the Musée Mécanique at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco, you will see the original owner’s son weaving through the aisles on roller skates, gliding from machine to machine as though he were skating through the annals of another century. Around him rises […]

Redwood Birdsong.

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by Marissa Bell Toffoli.   River sings us to sleep, ferns guard our keep. Under a canopy of centuries what dreams glow in the starlight. Storied roots. Infinite tendrils. The fog grows— awe around us. In this nest we’ve built, akin to marbled murrelets, waves call us back to shore again, again, again. The waking […]

Pol Pot’s Purgatory.

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by Sean Murphy.   On April 15, 1998, under house arrest, Pol Pot dies in his sleep, apparently of natural causes.   You read that and think: there truly is no God, no justice, no sense, no anything fair or good. A remorseless murderer, passing in his sleep and not hanging upside down, his internal […]