Stormy Night

There is a loneliness to hail dropson a tin-roofed cabin.The woods and flowers and secrets ofmountains are lonely.So are the trails, ponds, and bridges; the vanished sources looking for a beginning.Dripping drops a million years in the making. Falling asleep in the wounded soil of dreams. George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in […]

my favorite cage

is made of porcelain white bars, surroundedby ringlets of fire,  red hot and orangeas daisies consumed bythe summer sun. Those cornerless bars, alive and fierceas fractals, daring me to eclipse my freedom.  George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. […]

Krodhakali

Featured image art: Troma Nagmo. From dharmatreasures.com  Krodhakali is a wrathful aspect of Vajrayogini, whose name means “the fierce Kali.” Her other Sanskrit names are Kalika, Krodheshwari, and Krishna Krodhini. Her Tibetan name Troma Nagmo means “the fierce black one.” In Tibet, she is also known as Phagmo Tronang, the “wrathful black Varahi”, which shows her […]

Another Letter to the Editor

I think I know whyI like this piece. It’s what I strive forin everything I do. It disrupts everyone. From Generation Z to the Greatest Generation, this one has something to unnerve and destabilizeeveryone’s moral justice.No quarter. Almost no socialor political allegiance. Just one man’s interpretation based on experience. There is a certain purity in that which makes me feel safe. Who knows what the ramificationswill […]

Holy of Hollies

It is written that the almondsprung from thegenitals of theNear Eastern Goddess Cybele. And I thought that Iwas just eating nuts. They say that woman’sessence is in apricots and scallops, and floatslike the lotus and lily. But like some *sshole, I thought you were a ringto wear, some black stoneto venerate. I consecratethe stone and tried to wear it,like an amulet, makingyou […]

The Last Days of Summer

God is the original face before I was born. The lost part of my brain, drifting across beginninglesslifetimes, bobbing in the embryonic fluid. God is tortoise tracks and prayers bya beachside grave and the last daysof summer. Why the universe is so hot,crowded, and noisy, yet arrives quietly each lonely evening, on my doorstep, a bouquet of suffocating tulips. George […]