Fine Press Poetry | Publisher’s Story

Editor's Note: In this installment of our “Publisher’s Story” series, Andrew J. Moorhouse introduces Fine Press Poetry, which engages, and...
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Christian Formoso

they don’t rise or fall. they’re framed / on the walls. driftless syllables ornamental / and motionless.

Justin Lacour

After I dropped her off, I lit a cigarette and blasted shit that could most generously be described as coffeehouse punk on my way out of the suburbs. I love people, but I’m also a little relieved when they go.

Francesca Bell

we are the dumpster fire we encircle to warm our greedy hands in the dark

Kelly Grace Thomas

Every fart, / burp and feces, the body’s / speech. What a triumph / to royal your own musk.

Sheila Dong

you stand a long time / by the creek, then / feed it two pennies, / one for you, one / for the love / inside you that / you can do nothing / with or about.

Mark Terrill’s Great Balls of Doubt | Review

Mark Terrill's charming, masterful, workaday, transcendental lyric poetry is more compelling than ever.

Jeff Fallis

A talisman against the agony / in his knees and hips // for which he was taking / black-market fentanyl

Vítězslav Nezval

I greet your gliding flight O wings of death / But there are other signs too

Death of the Artists: Marinetti’s Last Stand

Instead of cocaine he had fascism, and just like the rock megastars with their producers and managers he had the backing of a bald, fat megalomaniac.

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