By Andrew Pence “Where are you going?” Carl asked, knowing the answer. “Out,” Emily answered without elaboration, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. “Again, Christ. That’s three times this week and it ain’t even Friday.” “So? You can go…
By: Marc Carver The Seagul I want to be like one of those old seagulls who knows he is close to death. No goodbyes no farewells They just go out to sea and keep flying they fly until they die….
By: Daniel de Culla Being naked to bed From the bedside table Where my father kept condoms And historical naked stars Dreaming with them I took a big postcard That I thought was a chicken In a yard: It was…
By: Daniel de Culla Where are you going, James Hilton? Where are you going, sad about you? -I’m looking for my Lost Horizons On the great bluish mountain of the Karakal In Baskul, Afghanistan. -If Tomás Moro is already dead In…
By: Daniel de Culla Where are you going, James Hilton? Where are you going, sad about you? -I’m looking for my Lost Horizons On the great bluish mountain of the Karakal In Baskul, Afghanistan. -If Tomás Moro is already dead In…
By: Ram Govardhan The towering, ornate Nigerian teak door at the end of lane is usually closed and persistently watched over by very old Rasul Chacha, as if he is on a continued lookout for someone wicked. Because the lane…
By: Ruth Z Deming She’d kept his photo at the bottom of her jewelry box, under her stunning wedding ring that bastard Stewart had given back, after the four children were grown. She took back her maiden name, Goodland, had a…
By: Johnny Gardner What I write is supposed to explain me But to limn is to betray me; how I portray my life, Revealing me, for who I am underneath. The sides of me most would never see, but believe. I…
By: Michael Fryd The Social Order Police arrived in the nick of time before she had a chance to set the house on fire, and took her to the Holding Facility. This was her third violation and she wondered what would…
By: Ian Fletcher Night is falling drawing the day into its own oblivion a day like all days unique, irretrievable by word or image or the world’s recall. So it is with me for my night falls and my oblivion calls….