May 21, 2022
May 3, 2022
First light frosting the tree line, and I close the door
On the rest of the house and leave the need for sleep
To others. At such an hour, with dark still lingering,
The stars blown apart and a waning moon near vanishing,
I’ve become too well acquainted with the dark dialect ...
April 16, 2022
I take a walk during my lunch, as usual,
turn the wrong way out the building door,
stray to sunlit paths.
The breeze is cold; I’m not a fan of cold.
April 15, 2022
This issue features a variety of fiction, poetry, serialized fiction, essays, artwork, photography and more from contributors the world over. Please read, enjoy, and share with others who would enjoy the works herein.
April 14, 2022
You stand at Devil’s Gulch
and say,
“I don’t think Jesse James
took a horse across here,”
and I don’t either,
because it’s much too wide
and there’s no way
a horse could jump that far
without breaking a cannon bone
or falling into the chasm,
even with Jesse James on its back
April 14, 2022
It was full of old glass bottles,
vases, broken plates and jugs
all remnants from long ago –
an old village landfill full of rubbish,
now part of my garden.
April 2, 2022
Jack fall to his knees in the midst of this white undulation. Not in prayer. Not even out of habit. But just because he's pissed.
March 26, 2022
Awake and outside
among nocturnal animals
something between prey and predator roaming
March 20, 2022
February 26, 2022
Sha Huang It’s okay to be unsure when your brush touches the paperA brush moves with its own willwater and color collideWrestle, merge, and give birthSpontaneous […]
February 12, 2022
“No crime you’ve committed against yourself first, others later, demands erasure.”
February 5, 2022
when nobody calls, I pick up
the days go down the alleyways
I rise
brush my teeth
like they’re all not already rotten
and wonder