paul weigel

Planting Flowers and other poems by Paul Wiegel

Each one blooms a beginning. They look like white teacup tops, or like a lobes of the brain with all those tucks and folds carved or etched or buttoned down tight. In mid [...]

February 20, 2017

Welcome to Vending Machine Press First Birthday Issue #7

December 1, 2014

Photo by Johannes Huwe Dear Readers, Welcome to Issue 7 of Vending Machine Press. This is a special issue as it is our First [...]
Morning in Portland and other poems by George Franklin

August 21, 2017

Orange peels on the plate, broken curls Of skin, scent of trees from Morocco, Spain, or somewhere else, somewhere other Than [...]
Sloppy Brain by Ashlie Allen

July 7, 2017

I’m not a ghost, but you touch me as if you can’t feel anything, expression absent of fascination, hands still like [...]
Two Poems by Emily Bernard

June 1, 2015

TAKE A LEAF FROM MARY’S BOOK Virginal – winding as a wordy tour of a world For thrill rides – a four-minute [...]
A Milton Bradley Game by Hilary Sideris

January 4, 2016

The object, for a girl eight to fourteen, is to be ready, to swoon if he’s a dream, recoil if he’s creepy, having [...]
A Thing From Spain by Ashlie Allen

July 27, 2017

They know I am not fluent in English, but still approach me. “Why are your eyes so black? Why do you look like you’ve [...]
The King of Hearts is the Loneliest of Kings and other poems by Steve Passey

February 18, 2019

The King of Hearts is the Loneliest of Kings Scars and Tattoos: Every scar is a story; a tattoo is just someone else’s [...]
Toxic Shock by Alex Creece

May 29, 2016

First Aid 1.01: do not remove an embedded object yourself. Even after the obligatory hospital visit, I was never fully [...]
Vixen by Kieron Walquist

February 27, 2017

After Ma died, the fox appeared. Black-mittened, face and fur scorched in red, the vixen would prowl our neglected hayfield, [...]
white sheets and cow milk by Ingrid Solbrig

January 15, 2017

I want to write [a poem] about us but there is no us There is you, far and me, too close. There is you, unknown. I want to [...]
La Petite Mort by Quinn White

February 3, 2017

Cover your ears. I took your father’s virginity. On top, he should’ve faced me, but he stared out his window at [...]
Two Poems by John Stupp

March 19, 2016

Colorado Sometimes it hits me the last time I saw my dad he was in a cardboard box at a crematorium in Colorado cold as [...]