Luigi Luccarelli was born into an immigrant family that settled in Ithaca NY. He studied at Dartmouth and Goddard colleges and received postgraduate degrees from the Middlebury Institute of International Studies and the University of Geneva. Luigi has worked as an translator and interpreter in various countries. He has published translations of Spanish poetry as well as two novellas/travelogues by Spanish novelist Juan Goytisolo. In addition to writing essays and poetry, Luigi is a visual artist working in photography and ceramics. Visit Luigi on the web here.
The following work is Copyright © 2021, and owned by Luigi Luccarelli and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
I always wanted to be
born into a book
and wander free
in the author’s mind
down crowded streets
across Times Square
unto a stage
my audience growing
but what would readers think
of such a thin lad
in a second hand pea jacket
in this no man’s land
amongst the working masses
in chapter three
of a 500 page masterpiece
Dig Wayne grew up in Ohio. He has lived, worked, and practiced his art in New York City and London. He now lives in Los Angeles.He has published two books of poetry Hip Pockets and Bongo Skin. His poetry has been featured in the literary journals, Askew, Spillway, Juke Joint, and Ligeia. Jerry Jazz Musician has published a number of his Jazz poems. Dig teaches Method Acting at the Lee Strasberg Theatre and Film Institute in West Hollywood. The only god he believes in is Thelonious Monk.“There ain’t no wrong notes on the piano.” Visit Dig on the web here.
The following work is Copyright © 2021, and owned by Dig Wayne and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
The Blues In Everybody
all the good stories are written in basements of butt-naked madhouses by corn-cracked young souls born of inciting incidents
they don’t keep the caulked white tiles as clean down there so the shadows still make lasting impressions.
stainless steel bed pans squeak out from under once voluptuous grandmothers, gathering momentum as the plot is developed in an upstate darkroom catwalk facility
bloody miscarriages of justice cry out to their under-fellated fathers for guidance as the protagonist puts one leg in at a time; his jaw nailed into a heroic grimace.
peach juice draws ants so the tri-lingual tragic mullatta milks the unsuspecting kidney foot for all he’s got and then some, her skirts fanning the flames of dynamic tension, robbing the dick of wind to whistle wolf.
bloated medicine jars stand silently by as men, women, and children pass notes in forgotten tongues to chewing gum riddled gurney jockeys with tobacco stained middle fingers.
in the continuing absence of toilet paper, 2 ply, 3rd draft manuscripts are always at hand for unseemly plot twists and cleaning up the literary jibba-jabba from the edge of