Fiction
Poetry
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
Dr. Ernest Williamson III
Poetry
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,
Robert Eric Shoemaker
Poetry
Where’s Nana?
She’s lighting a cigarette. The first time pops lost his words, I found her between the legs of a railway, staring at the ocean of
Christell Roach
Short Story
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
A.J. Whitaker
Fiction
This is What You Do
I stood in my kitchen, hands slightly palsied as I poured myself a glass of water from the sink.
Warren P. Genesis
Poetry
Godland: Sammie Jo
Sammie Jo don’t talk much. Her mother like to cut out her tongue any time she speaks up. A bone outta socket. As big as
Robert Eric Shoemaker