by Julia Anderson
There’s nothing like a drought to make you apricate the miracle that is rain.Read More »
by Julia Anderson
There’s nothing like a drought to make you apricate the miracle that is rain.Read More »
by Clara Burghelea
the hole that begs to be filled,
ragged around the edges,
the suck of air scouring the flesh.
Later, its ghost scar will bruise
the skin like an unfinished poem.
This poem will cock its head,
squint its eyes and settle into flesh.
One day it will slip out of your skin
and into the world and it will be hard
to explain it came from a place of erosion.
by Emily Strempler
“I know you’re proud,” the teacher says, stopping in the hall to deliver this gem of wisdom as she passes, “but I’d be a little quieter about it, if I were you. Boys don’t like girls who are too smart. Trust me.”
Read More »by Adam Chabot
Without wind, winter’s cloak wraps tightRead More »
around my shoulders as I take up my task
by Gabriel Langston
It’s quiet as the sun rises
the morning after.
I’m sitting by the shore,
waiting, holding my breath
and an old branch.
The bark turns to dust in my hands.
by Molly Kathryn Fisher
we sniffed the sharpie first. sniffed and snuffled and snickered i think i do feel a bit of something you guys because tina m. said the red sharpie’d take us somewhere over the motherfucking rainbow.
dizzy,
daydreamy,
and delirious on indelible markers, slip-sliding down the yellow brick road for
felt-tip phallic funny
fifth grade girl fun.
by Gabriel Graham Piessens
I’ve been thinking about what life isRead More »
What the point really is,
And I’ve come to the conclusion
That it is this: experience.
by Erin Schallmoser
sometimes you wake up in the morning and all you can know is the dark magic of still being aliveRead More »
by Duane Anderson
It’s laundromat time, washing the winter coats,Read More »
my attempt at washing winter away