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

Short Story

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

Poetry

Opposable

How do I write with these frantic fingers Left index plugs tearing right aorta Right hand holds closed ripping left ventricle I am hopelessly, entirely

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