Category: LIT

Destination Zero

It’s been 6 months, 13 days and 4 hours since I last weighed myself. I hid the scales in a plastic bag under some books beneath my bed, kidding myself that I’d forget they were there. I didn’t. Every time…

Home No More

I miss your coffee-covered breath, Early in the morning. It made me hungrier than death For a thrill without a warning. I miss your sweet saliva smell; I miss your cigarette-stained lips. Your yellow teeth as well, And your garbage-covered…

Black Shrunken Blemish

When Frances had to speak publicly, her legs shook. As a kid, she had grown faster up than she had out and she had felt like two wooden stilts extended from her hipbones. “Growing like a weed!” her mother would…

Popular Experiment

*synth beats* bright plastic blue screen green screen *auto-tune screams* chunky glasses tuned-in apathy *boy band* drive fast die young pretty corpse *twangy guitar* “kids today” kids tomorrow you tomorrow *pop radio* tinted glass psychedelic holographic unrelated imagery The featured…

A New World

While he sleeps I catalogue his body. When he is awake I keep my distance. While he dreams I touch and map in a fit of cartography. There, on his elbow is a scar where a mole was removed out…

This Place, it Echoes

My first real breath of air smells of pine and woodsmoke. It comes to me on a cool breeze, mid-afternoon, a sunny day that becomes the kind of staple nice day that every other future nice day of my life…

Early Morning Ramblings of a Twenty-Something Girl

A dream of a 1920s quasi-candid shot of Debby Harry, mingling graciously among a grandiose Studio 54 scene. Spray the lens of my life with hairspray, too! Sorry, how petty I am. Strangling a waist and shoulders with wires and…

Dear Spec

The featured image accompanying this piece, entitled ‘Spectrum’, has been used with the permission of artist, Robert Alan, a mixed media artist from New York City.

Antagonistic Environment

he swears that the desert is laughing, mocking him with the distant wail of the wind, the hoot of an owl. each spray of dry sand in his eyes is a personal affront. he’s pretty sure psychologists would have a…

Ride the Peter Pan

There were times when it seemed like all the beauty was sucked out of my life. This was one of them. It was cold and damp, early spring, and I was Greyhounding from my old life to my new; from…

Comatose (or You Don’t Know Where You Are)

You wake up. Are you dead? You don’t know where you are. Look around. There is a wide dirt road framed by tall, dark pine trees. What is this place? Grassy squares. Old, worn cabins grown into thick vegetation. Walk…

The Code

Carl didn’t know the code. The timer was ticking, the bomb was going to blow, but he had no idea how to shut the thing off. He looked around. Tools had spilled out of his box across the floor. In…

Dirt Road Dirtbags

It was Saturday. And I love Saturdays. My friend Libby’s dad takes her to church on Saturdays. And Polly’s dad takes her to museums. And Abigail’s dad takes her on picnics. But me and my dad are different because, on…

The Solution

I talk to myself. I have to. No one else will listen. No one else understands. Even if they did, I wouldn’t dare expose myself to them. They’re out to get me. They’re out to get you. Oh I know…

Pins

Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms, sharp at their sides. One of those things you stare at open-mouthed, barely breathing, waiting…

Dreamless Nightmare

I have not always had my medication to protect me from epilepsy, to keep my hand steady while I handled boiling grease and kitchen blades. There have been spans of time, long and short, where Depakote was not there to…

A Beggar’s Opera House

She was suspicious that everyone in the room was melting. The man sitting at the coffee table directly in her line of sight was watching his hands indifferently as they liquefied in pools on the table and dripped to the…

When You Grow Up

I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart of anti-democratic men but with a plenitude of carbon based efforts trying to truncate all…

Treading The Fire

maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge; a mantra to be ruminated over like a submerged leek becoming tender in warm water. as it seems to me all as vanished from our worlds galaxies and cliques. much poetry has propelled into…

Lascaux is Burning

The first art Was not art, Rather, a color line shot through the dark, No more expression Than a plea for explanation. The grandest monuments And greatest terrible wars Were all done for the sake Of a loving God, For…