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 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
How do you keep going despite the heaviness of the world?
This month, we warmly invite you to send us your thoughts, in the form of writing or visual art or basically anything, on the theme of hope.
As usual, our prompts are only here to help inspire you and don’t have an expiration date, so feel free to join anytime within the open windows of our call for submissions.
by K Weber
A month ago my hand was a fist
and then it slowly opened and wrote poems.
It slowly opened like a morning glory
morning; briefly invited everyone to look
by Alex Gibson
Red as an axe-wound gouge to the heart
Red as the bloodshed too soon to depart
Red as the smouldering left on pale flesh
Red as the raw ire choking veiled breath
Red as the razor lain still by the tub
Red as the rosary drowning in blood
Red as the knuckles of wallpaper white
Red as the bathroom’s shattered pull-light
Red as the flash of a chamber’s last blow
Red as the ink on emergency room notes.
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