Michelle Granville “DNA results pending”
Michelle Granville DNA results pending You have his smile, reticent, shy, breaking like a secret. Michelle Granville is finally ready to consider trying.
View ArticleMichelle Granville “Shadow play”
Michelle Granville Shadow play We are a work in progress a cobbled collage, a dance of debris reclaimed remnants of the past, and yet see how the light casts our beauty. Michelle Granville is finally...
View ArticleLucinda Marshall “Penn Station”
Lucinda Marshall Penn Station Shops hawking quinoa salad and kale chips now prettify its tunnels, but nothing can disguise the familiar piss smell that permeates the ancient bones of Penn Station as it...
View ArticleGerard Sarnat
Gerard Sarnat Postcard from Marvin Gardens After I was released from prison where I spent 13 months on trumped-up charges of Internet threats against our next President, done wolfing apple pancakes at...
View ArticleJ.R. Solonche “On the Highway”
J.R. Solonche On the Highway On the highway, the white Porsche blew by me like the ghost of a black Porsche. Prof. Emeritus of English at SUNY Orange, J.R. Solonche has been publishing since the early...
View ArticleJ.R. Solonche “How Stately”
J.R. Solonche How Stately How stately, how serene the geese glide on the lake, but this is because the swans are not around. Prof. Emeritus of English at SUNY Orange, J.R. Solonche has been publishing...
View ArticleKyle Hemmings “Nursing Home Kismet”
Kyle Hemmings Nursing Home Kismet She mistakes me for the man in the photo, the one in the pinstripe suit, whom she married in Las Vegas some fifty years ago, but I’m too lonely and withered to make...
View Articlej.lewis “Detox”
j.lewis Detox Through a dense fog, I hear someone explaining to me repeatedly how the stockpile of microenzymes I have built up over the past ten years will be depleted in five days while the staff ply...
View ArticleHeather Martin
Heather Martin “Jason, I can’t paint tonight, I’m grounded,” was scratched on the train window with a key. Heather Martin is a practicing poet from Massachusetts.
View ArticleSara Pirkle Hughes “How Quickly the Body Forgives”
Sara Pirkle Hughes How Quickly the Body Forgives Biking too fast to make a sharp turn, I scrape against a raw pine fence, and because teenagers are goofing nearby, I keep riding, my shin erupting in...
View ArticleSara Pirkle Hughes “The Fire Next Door”
Sara Pirkle Hughes The Fire Next Door The sound the house made as fire spread its paws through every room was like an old hound stretching in his sleep, deep sighs punctuated by growls, and being...
View ArticleSara Pirkle Hughes “The Red Devil”
Sara Pirkle Hughes The Red Devil How slowly I swam through months of unknowing, my cheeks creased from sleeping in chairs, where bitterly I flailed in rough-cut dreams of myself while the crimson...
View ArticleH. Edgar Hix “Viewing”
H. Edgar Hix Viewing The storm is in full bloom and I can barely wait for the next lightning to pollinate the earth with sizzling ozone. H. Edgar Hix is still H. Edgar Hixing around south Minneapolis...
View ArticleH. Edgar Hix “The Echoes”
H. Edgar Hix The Echoes Worse than the screams are the echoes that whisper, “The emptiness is already here.” H. Edgar Hix is still H. Edgar Hixing around south Minneapolis to the pleasure of a few, the...
View ArticleBill Yarrow “Unseenly”
Bill Yarrow Unseenly Over the years, his face began to alter, becoming not round but rounder not kind but kinder, not ruddy but red, the map of his complexion now filled in with rivers of creases,...
View ArticleMike Wahl “At the Beach”
Mike Wahl At the Beach I want to lean against your back, shoulder blades to shoulder blades, sitting on the soft sand where it has no backrest of its own, and listen to the surf forever. Mike Wahl is...
View ArticleDevon Balwit “Argument”
Devin Balwit Argument Hot, we yell—breaking windows to feed the conflagration, ignoring the flare of support beams, the shift that signals collapse. Devon Balwit has been known to fan the flames....
View ArticleHowie Good “God Who?”
Howie Good God Who? Thin as a ghost, you checked out of this hotel at the end of the universe, leaving a note, written in black fire on white fire, where no one will find it. Howie Good has a thousand...
View ArticleTim Brockett “The Archaeology of My Old Man”
Tim Brockett The Archaeology of My Old Man Howard Carter cracked open your tomb and wept at the pointlessness of what you saved, the tax returns, unbroken trail of inkblots back to 1949, chronicle of...
View ArticleSarah Hutchins “Nocturne”
Sarah Hutchins Nocturne After all of the trees harvested for houses, furniture, and sundries now rot from the autumn rainstorms, and animal corpses decompose atop shallow graves, and there’s nothing...
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