Fiction

Poetry

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

Lucy Holden

Essays

Have you ever wanted to see a time-travelling lone wolf cop (“I’m a cop. From the future.”) crotch punch Hitler (a.k.a. Kung Führer) in an

Glen Porter

Short Story

She was suspicious that everyone in the room was melting. The man sitting at the coffee table directly in her line of sight was

Rachel Salisbury

Fiction

I am in denial. Two pink lines.

Jessica Vergara

Poetry

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

Suzanne McHeffey

Poetry

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

Dr. Ernest Williamson III