By: Kristy Fusich Smells Like Teen Spirit was a terrible song about deodorant, but we listened to it anyway and rocked out in our dirty flannels with the cigarette burn holes in them. You got high on meth in my bathroom…

By: Kristy Fusich You never screamed no, but it’s what you were saying. This isn’t right. This doesn’t feel right. You go limp and play dead. When the scorpion stings its venom leaves you numb. Its tail is quick as a…

By: Pijush Kanti Deb Five fingers- the fingering of inequality, consequently the clash is inevetable between sustainable happiness for a few and non-washable sorrow for others. Five fingers- the seed of argument and counter -argument, the cause timultaneous festival in…

By: Zunayet Ahammed Happiness lost Melancholy approaches Lights fade Flowers far away Stopped have the songs of the birds Rivers not flowing Greenness of the green pummels me like a hawk Beauty of the dancers doesn’t mesmerise me Inner music…

By: Jake Cosmos Aller The falling rain Of late October Fills me with essential dread As I rush about And end up here Wherever here is The rain outside Seems like the tears of god As I sit Crying over my…

By: Jake Cosmos Aller January January arrives cold as death warmed over As I make my annual list of resolutions Of the great things I would do The lies I tell myself to keep me going While recovering from the hangover…

By: Alan Britt I hold a gecko, mottled tangerine, fat tail, black eyes glistening like papaya seeds as if to guess my next move. Wise gecko. Gary the gecko— ultra-sensitive tail supports 32% of his preserves as carry-on. Gary the gecko…

By: Alan Britt As in poetry, so in basketball. A-frame garage’s 9 foot ice-cycled hoop above blue-gravel driveway or immaculate Indiana hardwood, makes no difference to me, but to Wooden urging freshmen to embrace basketball the way they embraced life, placing…

By: Alan Britt When Robert E. Lee Clayton, decked out in granny dress and bonnet, wheeled and threw that Ninja star into the burning forehead of a shivering horse thief, we got a glimpse, if only a microscopic hint, of our…

By: Tracy A. Powers It was that night that I saw you Not with wide-open, eager eyes But with a seeking heart– You relaxed on the floor, breath quiet and steady As I cautiously approached, All dark curly hair, and gentle…