By: J.K. Durick What Time Does Eventually this allGoes awayDisappears intoTimeBecomes the historyThey will studyLook back on usAnd wonderWhat we were thinkingWhat influencedThe outcomesWe have madeThe things we lostAnd the thingsWe have gained.News does thatMakes everythingTemporaryExcept the damageWe’ve doneTo ourselvesAnd…
By: Paul Dickey Functions She knew him too well for this timeto matter, but he stayed up anyway,all night, to copy logarithm tablesand drink beer. “To see what she’d say.”He wanted her to-experience– –the importance of his studies,instead of just…
By: Tim Law Your Wish is my Command Here I sitI fish for a fishFor a fresh fish dishIs your only wish Once your cravingsI could find at the shopA midnight driveA mid-morning stop Gaytimes at night timesA hot chicken…
By: Andrew Nickerson Sun Tzu and Entertainment: Girls Und Panzer[i]’s Anzio Battle Many tactical theorists have come and gone throughout history, but none have had the influence of Sun Tzu, an ancient general/tactician/strategist whose masterwork, The Art of War,…
By: Michael Gigandet “I hope you are able-challenged!” A man rattled the door of the bathroom stall. “I don’t see a wheelchair under the door!” Obviously he means me, Martin thought. There’s only one handicapped stall in here, and I’m…
By: Jun A. Alindogan I remember growing up in a neighborhood that was surrounded by nature. Our yard was filled with guavas, duhat (java plums), atis (sugar apples), tamarinds, coconuts, and bananas. Outside the yard, there were mango, santol (cotton…
By: Trishant Subedi Behold that olden world—the grief stillwaiting to be told.I know it was a thing I could have told.I was forgotten,and was growing old. I am leaving with the cold air,I am leaving with a silent despair.Do not…
By: Jim BrosnanWriting at Midnight I keep rememberingin every letterI reread unfinishedcorrespondence— incomplete messageswhen I became lostin deep thoughtas I wandered through unnamed towns withwhite gazebos, pasta vacant lot with onlya swinging Sinclair sign— a survivor from a lastyear’s tornado…
By P. V. Anand Krishna I never chose this existence — this small space with stolen breath,these walls that silently constrict every time I take the chance to dream. I was destined for wider horizons, for paths that exhale under…
By: Aritra Basak Thin as Eyes I used to enter like a seeker of the quiet—barricaded graveyard, rented peace,an alibi from the scripted day,my breath new. Now the church is bright in a crueler way.The candles burn thin as eyes.The…