By: Tim Law Confusion I’m so damned confusedBy this game we call lifeLost on the work frontSo quiet with my wife Budget is blownBe it for wages or a loanI’m not sure what I’m doingA mental blank while on the…

By: Kevin Armor Harris The business with the pressure in my ears, that horrid popping I had in my head that I couldn’t explain, this is what happened. I went back to the hospital, the clinician had the scan shot,…

By: Richard LeDue “Separate Vacations” Back to the blank pagelike it’s some sort of loverwho forgives my silencestoo easily. These words kisseson the back of a neck,undressingthe softest apology. That’s probably whyI always returnbecause I don’t ask eitherabout the other…

By: David Sapp Liebchen LiebchenYou needn’t worryAs we’re civilizedThis isn’t 1935Never mindThe thump ofJackboots outsideYour windowThey’ll pass in timeReturn to yourRomance novelReturn to your homeAnd garden showPerfect graniteAnd stainless steel(Flip that houseFew can afford)Never mindThat brutal icy round up(You’re much…

By: Ethan Goffman Aphorisms for a Lonely Planet Mourning Dove A mourning dove chose to nest on the lantern just above our patio, which seemed too low to be safe. Day after day, the dove sat diligently, nurturing her eggs….

By Taylor Dibbert The next time That writer’s block Comes for him He hopes He remembers That hitting the bars On Tuesday nights Usually helps. ### Taylor Dibbert is a poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of, most recently, “On…

By Christina Chin and Jerome Berglund a failed signal to uncaring gods the forsakensky burial’spallbearers *** delirious—shadow talkswith rotting coconutsleadingthe witness *** stick draws HELP the sand heals before sunrise chasing with sweetened tea *** parrot’s scream—I teach it mother’s…

By: Haeun (Regina) Kim This Holy Litany (Salem Witch Trials) after Allen Ginsberg A psalm, a hymn, and a prayer. Apalm holding a candle. Confess. Reap. Stained glass rings like sanctuarybells. Fire crucifies us all. Witch. You sow what you…

By: Prithvijeet Sinha In the good light,you emerge like a hooded shadow.Then when the eyesare rubbed by thehands of an interestedmorning,you becomethe seraph with apencil beakand red-black spikes for feathers on your head. In that glow ofearly morning’smiraculous ventilation,you are…

By: Katie Hong The Room The room hums softlywith the sound of kids playing in the snowa wooden table embedded with marks from countless dinnersthe sound of silverware echoes in the silence My brother, with his elbows propped upgrins wide,immersed…