By: John Ziegler Two soft curled feathers,blow across the pavement. The blue pigeonsbob their heads, gather aroundthe old lady’s low heeled brown shoes, shoulder up to herto pick shelled peanuts, still warm from hersoft palm. They all seem old,the pigeons,…

By: Sayani Mukherjee. The autumn windfall of fallen leavesA shadowy misty river waterSat by the upfront the river criedA dozen zenith full of wavering sadnessI churned the fall from the seasonsOf Tulip’s most unkempt secretA lonely hazardous blush gardenAll around…

By: Fyeo Hale My mother started asking me the same question as soon as I was old enough to have a conscience, and she kept asking it at least three times a week for my entire childhood. “Fyeo, did anyone…

By: Karoline Wimmer Shivering, shaking, shudderingright down to the burning core,the blistering, unforgiving sunlighthas stripped all that was before. Trembling, twitching, throbbingwith the utmost perverse delight,the burning, barbaric sunlightwill not give way to the soothing caressof the peaceful night. Oh!…

By: Don Tassone “So what do you do?” she said. “I write books,” he said. “What kind of books?” “The kind that nobody buys, filled with stories that nobody reads.” “So why do you write?” “Because writing brings me joy.”…

By Carl Papa Palmer The Florence Nightingale costumered splattered with face paint bloodfrom Halloween makeup tubesarranged on the bathroom sink. Watching Mom in the mirrortransform the clear complexionof her lovely daughter intothe ghastly black and greenof the dreaded Nurse Hatchet….

By: James Aitchison (pantoum suggested by dada) to make parallel lines meet in albaniato vegetize the universal cesspoolto caress radical intentions via hysteriato charm king zog’s zippered sentiments to vegetize the universal cesspoolto sight-read cardboard suitcasesto charm king zog’s zippered…

By: Stephanie Paraschis Birds You are sharp and bright in the morning, sweet and soft in the afternoon.At dusk, your songs are more distinct, like you are cooing for your lover or your mother.The breeze carries you through the day…

By: Goutam Roy Iara dwellsin the mysterious realmof the Amazon,where deep forestsshadow the restless riverand hidden currentswhisper beneath the green.In her youth,trained in the art of the sword,she turned againsther own kinand killed thosewho were near and dear.For this,she was…

By Benjamin Cameron Davis Jr. Joe and I lay in our beds waiting for Nurse Betty to bring us Jell-O. The room never fully settled into silence. I could hear the low hum of the lamp, the turning of pages,…