By Karen Lee Stradford I’m 16 today.I got a dirt bike.After years of asking, I knew that my parents would finally give in.I can’t wait tocruise.The envy of my friends. First thing I need is to learn to drive.At the…
By Harrison Abbott I’d just finished work for the evening and I walked to the bus stop in an elated mood. I got to the stop and checked the screen for the bus times and my one was due in…
By: Leigh-Anne Burley Don’t Go There A child in the wombhears whispers ofgrievances trapped inclouds of vapor We walk apart withblood splattered facesuse our tonguesas battering rams Behind crooked smileswe shake hands in suretyto pledges disrespected Yellow police tape snakesaround…
By: Bryce Johle Brother Sores Forget how we ulcered. You used to trail pearled ropepast classroom windows, stitch into microfoam,veined maple mecca. I was a squirrel hopping fenceposts,along a Van’s-trotting hipster, cracking the pearls,harvesting cardigan fruits as if I found…
By: Jeffrey Delano Davis The raw chickenin the frying panpulpy, thick, sinuoussheared apart with scissorsolive oilhaphazardlydrizzled, burner unlit, your thin tremulous handsracked with sunspotsand varicose veinslightly touched your lip. “How long has this been sitting here, Ma?” This horrorstarted so…
By: Stephen Kingsnorth Trudge or Fly?As soles pace paving, up aloftthe pupils pointing brick above,learn walls a street scene gallery,frames overlook, day’s oeuvre show,evolving exhibitions, years.Who owns the wall, the sweeps supplied –a brush with property and law –but bills…
By: Ken W. Simpson Revelations Ghosts are memoriesthat refuse to die live with demonsor drown in their tears. ### Sorrow The mountains of mourninggrieve for the deadin the white snows of winter. ### Surreal Reality hides from the subconscious mindin…
By Taylor Dibbert Neither,Resurrection,Nor,Revival,What,They’reBuilding,Together,Is,Something,Completely,Different. ### Taylor Dibbert is a widely published writer and journalist. He’s the author of the Peace Corps memoir “Fiesta of Sunset.”
By: R.T. Castleberry WE MEASURE AFTERNOONSIN SMOKE. Early May sinks us,that sends vines creeping toblooms ascent on terrazzo walls;chases battering windsalong canopy sidewalks,through beggars on bikesbartering in desert camo. As I stand at a Belleville cornerwatching my prospects fade,church bells…
By: Roger G. Singer SCATTERED here at thisearth place dust liftsfrom thesmooth walkway carried withoutchoice releasedunequally ontodistant places as the partsscatter anddivide ### REFLECTION the moonin the mirror it’s strengthpulls the gazeand tidesto itsbright crooked smileor its dark sideof mystery…