Jose Padua

Sometimes I like to imagine that my family and I are a heavy metal band, playing gigs in the southern states, riding in a big tour bus that has skulls painted on the side, and a big decal of the grim reaper wielding hi...

Marc Olmsted

Ocean fog thick in the avenue night white Christmas lights in October Shamrock Arms Bar glowing green & red through clear quartz-glass block front the Dead Sailor Girls will play tomorrow salt taste in air wher...

Jack Micheline

I don’t know what I am seeking In the cool night rivers and birds a sensuous lip a rainbow of dreams past waterfalls the ruins of cities appear and fade in front of me awkward man he dresses and clowns seeking lov...

Emily XYZ

Justin Hott was a retail analyst for Bear Stearns I met at LaGuardia airport one night heading back to Detroit in December 2007, shortly before his company imploded. What is the basis of greed / wanting to be free of ...

J. D. King

(i love the scent of fresh cut grass) the mower is black mostly with bright orange parts illustration by JD King no engine to cut is to hear the whir of the reel and to smell fresh cut gra...

Bonny Finberg

Take the gas mask off. Take a bath. Take the cake. Take the China exit. Hell is out there too, Other people’s concern, Gods’ voices, at it like grownups In the front seat. Photograph from the Wall Str...

John S. Hall

by This Fuckin' Guy (as told to John S. Hall) Owls don’t seem so fucking wise to me. They look like dicks, usually, With their chests all puffed out and shit, Like they’re saying “Fuck me? No--fuck you!” But ...

steve dalachinsky

on the b-38 what are you waiting for / get covered / start here / a gift of happiness or risky listening? ya never can tell / drivin 26 yrs / 47 / nice humble guy surprised / caught a heart attack / here today gone t...

Lynn McGee

Plants at Work Sunflowers bob on a raft near Chernobyl, roots leaching atoms humming with intent to harm, but diffusing like sugar in the slow surge of some big flower’s stalk, its face tilting to follow the s...

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

AFTER YOU SAID I ALWAYS LOSE THINGS The red birthstone fell out of my ring, leaving its crowned prongs empty, a perfect chip chiseled from my heart’s bones. I dreamed being stopped by the long dark walkway w...