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Armine Iknadossian

Decalogue

A revolving door rotates smoke, water, fire;
the smell of gunshot, bed sweats, a secret affair.

I am a housewife and a mother of three,
a Bengal tiger has fallen in love with me.

I am discussing saffron with Elvis while dressed
in a bejeweled gown at the post office.

A wisdom tooth floats in my green tea.
Mother is a card shark and grows a white beard.

I accept an award in high heels and pink knickers,
then fall off a cliff and almost land in the breakers.

Then give birth to a red dove that speaks Japanese,
she’s the Virgin Mary who coos please please.

An invisible bullet enters my stomach.
I reach in and pull out the seed of a pomegranate.

A man enters, a frog prince, a klepto, a Jew,
fever-starved kisses like purple dew.

I’m lost in the streets of a love poem by Eliot;
the air is yellow; the streets are immediate.

My fingerless hand against a full moon
is now a bloody sheet, now a headstone.

April 2008

Armine Iknadossian - 1 Poem

James Bertolino - 1 new Poem

George Moore - 1 Poem

February 2008

Hitler's Mustache poems by Peter Davis
Reviewed

September 2007

Jacqueline Powers - 1 Poem

June 2007

Drift and Pulse by Kathleen Halme - Reviewed

Most Wanted: A gamble in verse by Jeffrey Encke - Reviewed

May 2007

Patty Seyburn - 2 Poems

Tim Mayo - 1 Poem

April 2007

Medal Winning-an essay by Suzanne Cope