

Noam Hessler loves words. This is the most generic thing one can say about a poet, even the definition of a poet, but once you get to the second poem in Officeparks, their debut book, and see/hear/read “fattoothed,” “Uppwards,” “Darkawful,” “Fatwet,” it is delightfully apparent that Noam Hessler loves words, especially aspirated consonants.
Within the foyer of the Concrete Mansion were four doors, a mezzanine, and a distant chandelier. The walls, floor, and ceiling were bare concrete. The floor was scraped and worn, the walls darkened by water stains. The mezzanine, also concrete, ran a square frame around the foyer.
“飛び込む jumped in 音 sound 古池や old pond 水の蛙 frogs of water “ is the latest collected work of Conor Hultman, un-author of the monumental DOE, and co-uneditor of the soon-to-be infamous “no rejections” Loser litmag.
A wide range of artists from a variety of disciplines deliver sinister incantations.
The Tyrant Queen of Iron City presents us with a bouquet of petty grievances.
The freaked-out, bored, alienated observations of the Beautiful Boy looking out on his suburban purgatory.
An imminently depressing, short, contemplative piece of empty, alien-world-wandering SF.
An attempt to locate a distinctly feminine “non-tyranical monstrosity” in Ted K’s life and work