By: Anne Britting Oleson Ornate, wrought iron: I gently screw the plates into the doorjamb, a clockwise turn of the wrist tightening the dividers of my world, replacing a door which ages ago some previous resident of this house felt…

By: Andrew J. Stone The game went like this: My brother and his friends would stand in a circle facing each other with a stick of dynamite in their mouths. They’d light the wick and whoever let it burn the…

By: Geoffrey Hoffman What is poetry? In what form should it be written? Ought it to be written at all, or is it nothing but escapist nonsense behind which we shy from reality? These are questions so old that it…

By: Joseph Grant   The venerable old Grand Central Market was as good a place to meet as any, thought Eddie Ruggerio. It had been on Grand Street for almost a decade on the entire ground floor of the Homer Laughlin…

By: Kyle Hemmings We are glitter-puppies in a dance temple of extended happy hour truths. Some of us will die in our distressed jeans. Who is the closet lipster with too many au cell phone lives? So wasted in those buckled…

  By: Kyle Hemmings   At work, her father fights a losing war with paper men. Home, Zin imagines wind scorpion women without musical sense, exoskeletons in the morning, left-overs of love. Some girls are cursed with supernatural powers of hearing….

By: Kyle Hemmings Her new step-mom keeps losing herself in supermarkets, especially in the aisle that sells kitty litter or retractable dog leashes. She loves little dogs & homeless cats & admits freely that she herself might be verging on extinction….

By Richard King Perkins II He squats naked and glorious. He does not move. Intimidated, everything comes to him. Light, substance, power. The naïve, the curious, the envious. It’s true and utterly transparent. I despise his perfection. He is far more…

By Richard King Perkins II   Where does it hurt when cardboard walls collapse in a sodden pile around you, snuffing the candle soaking a scrounged meal and your only change of rags?   Where does it hurt when city rain…

By: Onkar Sharma The Monday morning blues kept on gripping me as I drove through the busiest Delhi-Jaipur highway in Gurgoan. There is an important meeting today with the client, I thought and accelerated. But then, something happened to vehicles…