B-MOVIE by D.E. Oprava

The eleventh offering from Ten Pages Press is now available: B-Movie by D.E. Oprava.

on hold

Bakelite radio plugged into the porcelain socket, empty, a cobwebbed pull chain silent. A dim glow from the pre-transistor tube and a hum, listen:

It’s not going to get any better, not during this circumnavigation of the solar navel, or otherwise: take notes, this has import, as important as eating five portions of crudités per day, honest. This is vital, signs of the apocalypse are now called advertisements- wait for it. There, high five for the maidenhead coming in from Shanghai (they can clone anything these days) hold on, news flash: wait for it.

today, no, tomorr…
no, gravity and situations
are getting a divorce

Broken news, life and death, mostly death, affects our daily disaffection for morning cereals, serial mourning, and side orders of after-effects they say very fast at the end of adverts. Success, measured by algorithms too complex for plain happy or sad: beware, made up word, happy, also cloned with chemicals. Your patience is apprehended. Thank you.



Offering #10 from Ten Pages Press is now available: Dreaming Knives and Nightmares by Puma Perl.

dreaming in daylight

she fakes orgasms
with herself
just to get it
over with,
hopes sleep
will come,

she misses
nicotine patches,
and glorious
in darkness,
for the magic,
like a robot.

the sun
does push-ups,
fantasy runs laps,
moon exploded,
hours knock
on windows,
she sleeps
in daylight,
night waits.

(Previously appeared in Gutter Eloquence Magazine.)

LIMINAL by Tantra Bensko

The ninth offering from Ten Pages Press is now available: please enjoy Liminal by Tantra Bensko.



Quantumly speaking, the universe is like

A paper wad, unfolded now.


A corner folds down

Touches the other side.


What do we need, my son?

To live and die forever,

Forwards, backwards,

Angled up together

Like the clinking shinies

In your pocket,

Corners flapping loose.

You are everything


Spread out against the sky.

It’s corners fold to touch

Each other, points of contact made

Against things that had not

Rubbed up against each other

For trillion years.


And on some far extended

Pocket of the sky,

There is another you

Who’s touching now

Another me, as once they

Did when we were young,

So young we were indeed

Someone else.


And we feel them touch,

We feel some strains of light

Burst free, some love

Lit up, mysteriously,

Our eyes, which take on

Subtle differences of meaning,

And we fall


Into the sky’s enfoldment,

Growing brighter as we burn

More quickly, shinies

In the pocket of everything.


The eighth offering from Ten Pages Press is an excerpt from a larger collection of poems about Alfred Hitchcock. I hope you will enjoy A Taste of Hitchcock by Lyn Lifshin.

DREAM # 527

another train dream.
It’s not the first one but
usually he’s the conductor
in charge directing the
shots. But this time he’s
lost his ticket, has no idea
of the destination. The
train twists thru blinding
sun and dark chasms. His
reflection in the bathroom
glass startles. Is it a twin, a
double he wonders, lulled
by the jostle of rails. He
dreams he orders a double
vodka, imagines the man
in the train glass is his
double, a twin. Suddenly
the train goes to the under
world and he imagines
the dark tunnel is a
lens he’s viewed
thru that he can’t
hide from

I WAS A TEACHER ONCE by Michael H. Brownstein

Here is the seventh offering from Ten Pages Press, one for the teachers: I Was a Teacher Once & Other Philosophies by Michael H. Brownstein.


We wonder what is in the water. Sugar,
Cookies, ripe persimmons, cotton
Candy. We know it is not any of these.
Some things are valued less.
Everything is always that simple.


Here is the fifth offering from Ten Pages Press: In the Palace of Dying Light by John Sweet.

the refusal

shoot the doctor in the
back as he walks away then
tell him he’s a coward while he
dies at your feet

it’s an addiction,
like humor

it’s a punchline

you capture the soldier, a
boy of fifteen or sixteen, and
then you torture that fucker
until he’s on the floor in a
pool of his own shit and blood

this is how wars are won

make your children
understand this

tell them how much you hated
your own father,
how much he hated you

show them the scars

explain how they can only
grow up to
repeat your mistakes