By: Charlie Southerland The image of you going down, the depths To which you’d sink, the way you break in-two, The way you drift apart to...

By: Chloe Bausano The memories crackle between my fingertips like potpourri, smelling of downy and summer: sunscreen, rocket-pops,...

By: Edward D. Miller The view’s beauty speaks for itself. It requires no words from you. The view wants to ruminate and reflect upon...

By: Alexandra Weiss the breakfast here is just like a hotel's, transitory, sun colored and safe expired we try to say it in other words,...

By: P.E. Sloan This is what it has come to I pine for the flutter of memory I light candles for my ancestors and reckon my liver spots...

By: Dave Jilk So What Evening breezes dab the deck and whisper warm greetings to my cheeks; a faraway horse chortles over cool standards...

By: Lauren Spinabelli Sun-bloodied I used to write the dark a girl split open like a pomegranate then I was the dark and the pomegranate...

By: Mike Seid The Tyrant The tyrant in the lighthouse of desire Who once commanded every inch of ship Struggles now to tie the laces of...

By: Loretta Diane Walker Witnessing the Lynching, from the Sky’s Diary Account 1: Sky Curses of the first born, the archivist of the...

By: Ryan Harper Wedding of the Waters Be on my side before the water reddens— butte-print intaglio, earth diving and a hoarse wind...

By: Grayson Thompson Joe was from Queens and wore leather jackets in Florida. His writer aesthetic. He was too cool with wavy slicked...

By: Jones Irwin All that daring and they killed her Exchanging her self-ironising contempt for their disdain A harlot in an open dressing...

By: Samara Landau sit on your kitchen counter adjacent to your mother and me as we sit and talk and pretend that when she leaves the...

By: John Dos Passos Coggin On his back porch, he fills his pipe with burley tobacco, sips Spanish wine, and picks up a fountain pen. The...

By: Heather Gluck Hot fingers spread like taffy Against the sofa in the parlor where I sit And count the lips in the window dressing. I...

By: Melissa Taylor the world is quiet except for the nighttime symphonies played by insects unseen and the distant hum of generators as...

By: Kristin Hunt Will you accept this blood sacrifice? no white terrorists in America we are so blessed they are ghosts plain citizens...

By: Jessica Barksdale I will not attempt a reformation of your ornate theology but tell you of mine, which is none, at least on my sane...

By: D.S. Maolalai the air is bright, clear and cheerful as puddles of spilled diesel pooling on the filling station floor. I've explained...

By: Laura Mota wheels dive in the slush puddle. under the sun, gray becomes silver. in over a year, slush on the asphalt is the closest I...

By: Pat Phillips West I couldn’t tell you now what possessed me to keep all these scribbled figures— a metric of total cases, new cases,...

By: Corie Rosen For M., 1981-2020 It was a night for ecstasy— by which I mean a night for revelry, by which I mean that for some, it was...

By: John Johnson I am a 2-year old throwing my milk bottle on the floor. I am a toll-taker dispensing coins to travelers without exact...

By: Christopher Hewitt Lemons If lead paint chips poison the soil in the backyard a smoke-blue ten-foot wall encloses— scraps of plywood...