THE MONUMENT

by J.S. O'Keefe

President Trump has revealed plans to make his proposed 250-foot arch in Washington, D.C. serve as a "military complex", including areas for military snipers and large amounts of weaponry. Trump added that the arch near the National Mall will "house, store, and have the rapid ability to use large numbers of drones, plus Snipers, on both the roof and plaza areas, and additionally have and hold large quantities of sniper ammunition in storage." —PBS, September 20, 2026

The syntax of slaughter,


lubricated, rolled upon the palate,


tasted of rust and stale brine


before it slipped into law.

We've brought fresh geometry of iron


for the square,


where pigeons, fed on scraps of news,


fall stunned on the pavement,


necks broken by war noise.

Whose coin is this,


pressed hot into our palms


and called a gift?

Coughing rattles the tenement at dawn.


The triumphal arch stands upright and blind,


watching the river carry tired oil out to sea.

Someday, 

another tide will come back in.

J.S. O’Keefe is a writer and trilingual translator. He has published short stories, poems and creative essays in print and online journals, including Roi Faineant, Antipodean SF, Dissident Voice, Everyday Fiction, Spillwords, 50WS, and Satire.

THE CLIMATE SCIENTIST

by Ash M. Corvo

AI graphic by Nightcafé for The New Verse News

My morality is not pretty
Not gartered in roses or smelling like honey
It is iron and snapping teeth
Demanding and loud and spitting on money

And I'll be honest: I hate gilded pulpits and podiums
From where I should beseech gods or powers that be, giving tithe
My authority is nameless in the bitter autumn wind
I know spring blossoms follow the scythe

Look at me and judge: my nobility isn't an eagle, soaring
Even the vulture must eat
Head naked and bent over what is rotten
Clear-eyed, swallowing mouthfuls of pungent meat

They all argue, pen or sword? What does it matter?
I have written words for so long, there is a season for each
A time to inscribe law, a time to rend flesh
And a time for discretion to teach

So yes, my morality is hideous
I endeavor for factual hands to mold it
It does not promise flowery hymns, nor to caress the ear
And we have precious little time for bullshit

Ash M. Corvo is a novelist of dark adult fantasy and science fiction. She writes for readers who want stories to break them—and piece them back together. Her novels confront impossible moral dilemmas, conflicting loyalties, and the gruesome aspects of human nature we prefer not to examine too closely. She holds a Ph.D. in biology, and has seen firsthand the effects of humankind on the natural world.