by Alma Ariaz
Your mother doodles
when she talks on the phone.
(You call it doodling, she calls it
scribbling. Both acts serve the same
purpose, but you sense the subtext
behind the distinction.
It isn’t quite clear.
It could not be clearer.)
by Mike Towey
This is a fumbling towards chaos
No whimpering in dark memories
Read More »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.
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?
by Eva Skrande
Night awakens in your lily filled hair.
My fingers give life to kind finches
by Michael Shoemaker
When our eyes meet
sheer innocence
magnificence
tenderness
fearless
finds.
by Avril Shakira Villar
Will you take a moment to look around you?
Countless of injustice stories to be told in this little town.
Read More »by Yuan Changming
Above this wild wild world covered
With layers and layers and layers
Of red dust, my selfhood
Has long been tired
Tired of flying
Flying alone
Day & night
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