EAP: The Magazine Archive

by Barry Vitcov.

A contortionist writing an extemporaneous poem
Shaping herself into words
One letter at a time
Alone
Giving more to the word
Than what was intended
With flourishes of twists and turns
Not unlike a white-faced mime
A body morphed into letters
Lose their humankind
Unable to distinguish fonts, bold and sublime

Some letters are easily flexed
Others painful G’s and B’s
Twisting a poem leaves no impression
Like the scent of roses
The wisp of fog
The rhythm of seas
Flashy serifs
Meant to embellish
The bland shape of calligraphy

A contortionist writing an extemporaneous poem
Erasing itself as each letter is formed
Undoing each shape as the next one is born
A poem leaves no impression
Only its form

by Tamra Lucid I’m closing down everything. It’s the nightly ritual. Making sure the cats are good. Walking up to each one. I notice they’re looking outside. So I look where the cats are looking even though they often fake me out or see things I can’t. A red and blue mylar balloon in the […]

by Ronnie Pontiac. Some experiences with ghosts happen in broad daylight. Such communication can be so subtle a single word can carry great meaning. Or was it all a most improbable coincidence? In sixth grade I was a runt. Raised by paranoid immigrants, beat up by classroom bullies, I found my only refuge in drawing […]

by Benjamin White. Say goodbye to right now, And let time allow itself To venture off and discover A soft chance to squeeze through So maybe It can find a view Worth looking at As the seconds walk the path Towards eternity To set up A beachfront kiosk And sell memories To the tourists As […]

by Ron Singer.                                  (Dedication: once again, sposibo, Nicolai.)             Needing a haircut, my good friend Sy Peavis (“P”) tried to call Angelo, his barber, for an appointment. (P. told me this story over the course of several lunches.) When the number did not work, he wondered if the cause might be […]

by John B. Merryman. I would first admit that I don’t have a lot of formal education. As a younger child in a horse racing family, there wasn’t much attention to education. I was more curious than competitive, so I found it more effective to be a worker and let my mind do as it […]

by Brendan Hamilton. Collage poem composed from a 19th century joke book and a myology guide to ravens a spree wouldn’t be a spree if Mose wasn’t thar having completely and carefully plucked the Sun Mose spits in your bowl and the soup does not hiss open the mouth to its full extent pry ponderous […]