By: Nate Maye From under a dark robe, I imagine a weapon, a torch I imagine a twisted claw hiding under there, ready to tear me up, like a chicken scratching the ground But it is only a document, some…
By: Linda M Crate if you’re a god how far have the heavens fallen? you bleed a little too much like a human for me to believe you, and you scream like a baby insistent upon always having his way;…
By: Linda M Crate savage little brute lying, cheating, stealing hearts away simply to satiate your lust which is never fed you’re just another succubus in a world of profane immorality; thought you’d be something more than an animal, but…
By: Amulya Of relapses into childhood, of placid oblivion, of all the places we pretend to inhabit, of people we pretend to understand. The unmomentous happenstances we long for, the truth nestled in our fears, startling us with its incontrovertibility; the…
By: Kristina England and I drive to Arkansas, one of my quick-check bucket list states, good enough to drive the Bayou but not to stop, West Memphis a ghost town to my own churchless eyes boarded up, crumbling, an unnatural disaster,…
By: Kristina England no one likes a prophet. My father keeps thinking he’ll die, dreamt himself gone long ago, says forty five, fifty then sixty three, the years dancing around his father’s grave, etchings young on that stone, the grandfather I…
By: Chuck Orloski At annual Game of Low Thrones Awards, large and star power tarantulas awarded me the nick name, Little Tarantula. Without Peter Dinklage famous looks and minus five 0′ clock shadow fur, I was born a midget, short changed…
By: Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon Some guy I was dating casually slipped you into the conversation one time, we were drinking yet again one night. The same shirt, he was wearing, the same one I complimented off-hand. So maybe he really liked me….
Title: My mother in America emails instructions to the artist for a portrait of her mother, now 85 and with Alzheimers By: Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon What I remember, what I want her to remember … what you can work with are these:…
(11 Bravo, A.I.T, Fort Polk, LA, November 1970) By: Chuck Orloski On bivouac in Kisatchie National Forest, a wild combat veteran Drill Sergeant promised the grunts, “No rain coming tonight, so no need for you m-fuckers to pitch tents! Just get…