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featured poets & artists


summer rogers

Summer Rogers' goal has been to transfer her imagination and energy into activities, events, and discussions with generations X, Y, Z. Besides passing along wisdom from the beat and beat up generations, she is a community organizer, youth mentor, and substitute teacher in Chicago. Summer is a Loyola University New Orleans graduate and former intern of the New Orleans Review and New Orleans' OffBeat Magazine. her work has appeared in Bad Girl Magazine; Wrapped Around My Neck, and Hunger: December, 1997, The Maroon: Women Seen as Weaker Sex by Society: April 1999, WREC Magazine; Iris May Tango Near You: June 1999, OffBeat Magazine; The Revealers: More Than Reggae: June 1999.


Jane Doe


The world is comprised of grids

Shaded regions separate half


The silver lining whose gleam is too bright for metal

Eyes is accused of shining beams

Where darkness is meant to fall


Wrap her in cloth; package her in a box

Put her on a shelf and only think of her


litmus test


Life as real as TV broadcasts pleonasm

Trendy narcissism speaks louder than quiet thrift store scrutiny


For what initially seemed empowering, naive followers multiplied

And trailed after goods that advertised the millennium


Believing the other side was green

Reality was blown into little pieces


Walking the soul, like the dog

Gentrifying the neighborhood the same


Puffed smoke from their cigarettes between channels

Routing their threaded profile towards achievements


With billboard poise, wife beater tee shows muscle

Sweatshop grief mutely endures


Capped-tooth smiles disguise two-piece vanity in show tune happiness through

Psychic sex phone cords, installing that lost kindergarten confidence in the receiver


Greened pupils watch love ignite orgasms as

Duty merely genuflects


Reggae twists lock into peepholes of ecstasy

Holding open their orifices


As silver-plated rings gleam turning fingers

Into malignant sticks doused in stardust


Painted spirit is peeling at the ends of moral weight

Hidden between sheets of acidity





nine stories high. nine generations deep. nine

strands outside of my head.


hummed questions and quiet response

information station and murmured details


invisible dedication and blind amour

leather paper and glass steel


hot, back-browning sun fading into artificial air

endless fields turning into a closed wall


fluorescent eyes glimmer like light peeking through slanted horizontal blinds


blinking people display or expose


me, I. self

black, period. running

my ancestor

black, period. running


I would like to thank capitalism, Europe, I haven't forgotten about you.


"manage the intelligentsia"













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