by Daniel Moreschi
Segmented sets of starlings sharply elevate
towards candescent skies, suspend, then circulate
in sync. Their wingspans whisper sunset symphonies
while manifesting silhouetted symmetries.
Seagull Vignette
by Annemarie McCarthy
Next to me, Maisie brings the paper cup to her lips. The lukewarm chocolate has been given the go-ahead, deemed cool and safe enough for her to drink.
She slurps one, two, three. Pauses to blow bubbles into it, her nose stuck tip first into the liquid. Then her head rears back, nose wet and dripping and she releases a yowling scream into the air, a primal sound. Nobody at my table reacts.
Read More »Clay figures
by Kyla-Yến Huỳnh Giffin
The snow falls, but it doesn’t land.
The roads scream when I drive over them.
Birds waltz over power lines and take dust baths in the ground-up concrete.
I grow a plant indoors that knows nothing of how much of the earth is no longer alive.
This world so rarely makes sense.
Surely we’re all just pretending to understand it?
Surely we’re all just acting as if we’ve got it under control?
My Little Demon
by Rowan Moskowitz
I have a little demon on my shoulder. Not the type who whispers in my ear encouraging me to do bad things to others like in a stereotypical cartoon setting, but more so one that whispers insults and lies to me. It’s my own personal bully, following me wherever I go and reminding me of all the things that could go wrong. Then? It tells me how I deserve it, claiming that I ruin everything and just bother people with my presence. It makes me feel as if I’m back in middle school sometimes, memories of childish insults being thrown my way all coming back in one quick swift like a gust of wind that’s never ending.
Read More »The Uncanny: 2 prose poems
Call the Folk Police
a song by Ben Macnair
Give a listen to the first original piece of music on our webzine below or on YouTube.
Read More »Onwards and Upwards
by Bri Eberhart
Once a year, on a crisp autumn morning, fog stretches across the yard, disappearing into the thicket of trees surrounding my house.
The haze is alive, breathing heavily on my neck, beckoning and pulling me in deeper until I can no longer tell where it ends, and I begin.
Read More »Lies
by Eva Skrande
Night awakens in your lily filled hair.
My fingers give life to kind finches
Belongingness
by Michael Shoemaker
When our eyes meet
sheer innocence
magnificence
tenderness
fearless
finds.
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