Fiction

Short Story

While he sleeps I catalogue his body. When he is awake I keep my distance. While he dreams I touch and map in a

A.J. Whitaker

Poetry

Floral straight jackets hiding women
It’s too pretty to get dirty.

Neth Brown

Poetry

Your voice alights on my armhair, a whiff of cigar smoke— caramel, and ghostly— “Cities die; let them.” Black thing to say. I patter

Robert Eric Shoemaker

Short Story

It’ll be a Wednesday. It’ll be cloudy outside. There will be fog creeping over the ravine and remnants of an early-morning rain still drifting

Dorcy Jaffray

Poetry

Can’t you let the film spool unseen on the stained floor? Its frames forever static as my fingers resplice our hands. Let my battalions of

Jacquie Wyatt

Poetry

Meet me in the mountains Of Oregon (Washington’s been having too many fires). It won’t be hard to find me- Just look for the earthship,

Amara Nova