Local Lit


The Fever

  After she left me, I was in a fever. I wanted chaos. I wanted never ending darkness. I tore down the curtains, clawed at the wall paper and I screamed, inhuman sounds that ripped from deep inside me. My thoughts came scattered and too loud, in a language I could barely understand. The tears... More


Dorothy Dances in the Land of Oz

  –and I’m holding her hand as tightly as I could, like capturing light in between clenched fists, like encapsulating a deluge in a teacup—hopeless, but I held on anyway. In hindsight, this was the essence of our friendship—undying love and futile desperation; starvation only the half-dead could relate to, that addiction to life and... More


Night on the Town/the Morning After

Fail to find, in tile floors, The glimmer of the glaring gods.   Raised and lowered,   Trip to find the chipping wood And table dancers of tin and glass Pushing sin along the finish   And taking balance of the stand and standing.   Spotted scratch and washed off scotch. Stick to the table... More


The Rook

  Camouflaged with the dusty appearance of brick and mortar, Richard nestled into his lunchtime nook. He did not need to conceal himself, he was concealed through parlour tricks of the common man. He had stopped obscuring himself long ago. He stood in an underused Bay street doorway, on a step laid with faded green... More

Timucin Toprak

My Weekend War

  First read the books of Bushido in ascending order. Toques in the summer taunt the delirious weatherman. Lobster dinner and a novel approach freedom at record speed. Sharks have an impeccable sense of self-loathing. Not a game, it’s the manifestation of practice. Talking goats that refused to keep me company. Smile every time an... More

Timucin Toprak – no title


  Concept incept, In the limbs of a wolf at the door; Slaughter me in the cove of a whistling pond. Floating under a cracked egg moon; Auto-pilot on – beyond graceless – disgraceland. Like a fool, I have cement wings. Oh no, that is not me. I am not that soul in the root... More

Men of the Earth III

Men of the Earth – Part III

“I may be retiring, but don’t kid yourself, kid,” Mr. Gore said. “I still know things about this place.” Mr. Gore was never a man to shout or raise his voice, but you knew he was mad when he started ridiculing. In the last days of work on the Road Hogarth was using the tamping... More

Benjamin Philip Frish “Life 01”


Here you’ll find, to pass the time, A chunky piece of terrible rhyme. Easy find the open lines, but look then for an end, Finish with the… Meet me in the wings; In dark embrace, love the act. Even in these constant things, I’m forced to find new beginnings.   © – Anthony Leclair 2013... More

Federico Bebber – no title

Jesus the Moth

The house is by itself on a long country road, surrounded by a darkness so thick it could be tangible, like a web that will catch you and hold you while some monstrous spider crawls from the blackness to suck you dry. The place is lit up bright, and you can see it through the... More

Felicia Simion - Living in a Macro World


  Home I couldn’t save you that day when you fell from the sky. Amongst aerial strings, you tore between teeth lining and ephemera like when we played as small children. And all I asked for back was one second of still to remain instead of strung skin and wilting flowers tearing away at happiness... More



  Mistress barnacle clings to the flat bottom of the ship twig arms gripping wide singing softly into mottled wood the Babylonian lullabies of hearth gods and hyenas— Body braided into the bow, the mermaid snoozes hair quickly growing red and green kelp that ghosts along my back and tangles in oar combs pushed by... More


Feature Chapter from Savage 1986-2011 by Nath...

Savage 1986-2011 by Nathaniel G. Moore is being released later this month by Anvil Press, but at Swept, we’re featuring a chapter from Moore’s new novel, called Blue Monday! Nathaniel G. Moore is a Toronto-based writer of poetry and fiction, as well as journalism. Savage 1986-2011 is the fifth book Moore has authored. Check out his... More


Let Us Insist Upon Elite Ideals

Let Us Insist Upon Elite Ideals By rote they continually hail progress Yet progress pales compared to elevation Choruses repeat the trope of dignity Yet dignity is but a footstool for sanctity Like automatons they call for peace Yet peace is merely preface to loving-kindness Slogans bellow on behalf of human rights Yet omit all... More

La Ilegada de la primavera

Men of the Earth – Part II

  It went this way for several weeks and would’ve, I’m certain, continued to the end of the summer if I hadn’t run into them by chance. Horacio was with another younger man in the food court eating burgers and fries and I asked if I could join them and Horacio nodded to indicate that... More

Dont Look at me... Look at Lucy

Triangular rows

      Triangular Rows on silver platters, pointed like graves gathered by the fireplace in remembrance.  Trails of sodden souls in polyester skin make their way through. They carry in heavy, escalating misery on backs of men, pressed trousers to the ground.  I watched oldest legs and how they could stand faces betraying strained... More

Andrew Ahmed

Residency Haikus

Residency Haikus  - Young men automate I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry in the Cameron House - the lead says it’s time to get up and dance. I sit and stab my whiskey. - In vibrant vintage two girls sigh their youth in half -hearted sways upfront - They pack their guitars plaid & beards.... More


Wasted Nights

Wasted Nights Evenings waste away to shattered dreams of fidelity in dark corners with kisses so far removed from familiarity. Though strangely familiar it may seem, as though another like had drifted upon an existence you once knew before, now squandered and left barren by new love and life the same. In an instant, time... More



Her lips tasted how the colour red smells: gushing and violent and electric. The lake left the scent of saltwater on her teeth, and as you dusted your fingertips over her blush, you swore you heard thunder. “Nobody writes good love stories anymore.” — The nuclear explosion happened at eleven o’clock at night, on Tuesday... More

Night Fun

Redskin Poet

Yesterday, I didn’t know how to love. Today, I’m showing you how to love. An admiration of grace, a natural charisma, unnerved. wickedly good, calm before the storm. An empathy setting like a sunset. I was the quiet one, sleeping like a giant. I was awaken by the ghosts, pushing and pulling the life out... More