Just as there’s a posturing back and forth of sitting and standing between being upright and being seated, so someone is forever raising and lowering the upper half of their body between sitting up and… Read More »WHIM-WHAM by J. A. Keefe
SCAN LINE TAXI Golden stoop I saw passon my way home, behind the pane,back seated in–please, taxi, flash the hazard lights,nestled in the flat whitepowder on the gate, black oxideon the kissed fencetipsthe good handcoup:… Read More »Poetry by Josh Tecklin Samaniego
Community, commune, communication with the dead. Or in this case the undead. Religious retreat. Wave the white flag, turn tail and run from the monotony of days spent dragged docile and tranquilized through this endlessly… Read More »Prose by Natalie Arriola
Fifteenth Dream A hundred times I have heard tell that dreams were odd games played by the imagination, an extravagant pile of disconnected thoughts and objects. This has been my sense quite often since I… Read More »Two Dreams from the Novel A Dreaming Hermit by Louis-Sébastien Mercier, translated from the French by Stephan Crown-Weber
Fighting highlightfrom the sky, blown outphone brightness maxedand special app formanual aperture wind picks upand remember, I amskeletal. coat catches an updraftconcrete face that cuts me downcuts the gale forever untilthe city becomes ruin.not yet… Read More »EXPOSURE by Josh Tecklin Samaniego
I’m gonna write my way into the nearest Supernova to Earth with a milky pen covered in drooping eyes, when the sky is sword and sallow. My retinas inhale the images of your breath, stationed… Read More »My favorite questions by Ryan Bry
The pupil is a pinholewhich contracts the lineray-traces the territorywith beams of lightA face is a modelprojected insidelathe to the curvelip to discardMercator, the castthe world is a mapbody, decidewhat edges to hide
The moon is daggering as she always does, unfed fish lumbering with brilliant coal in their lips, unclogging remedies from before stars had to die, bound to a twisted fate of jagged madcaps, lunching their… Read More »The mushroom trip where I realize I have to write Ms. Hartigan a Romeo & Juliet essay from freshman year of high school by Ryan Bry
This is still a thing of lumberjack integrity, the gross massage of a rigid maple, mushing chewy words with buried glee, where the sweating pond lets its eyes drop to the bottom, where there’s grassery… Read More »Lost words hurting the disease in a temple of trash by Ryan Bry
High ring in my right ear a ceaseless impairment. Small breeze that drums against my brain softly, like bored fingertips on a desk. Looking up, the sky is wide open; it looks like it could… Read More »Grounding by John Biron