-
These Words Are For The Eyes Of The Dead
Austin is a formerly homeless, queer student originally from Las Vegas, Nevada. He currently works as a tutor at his college’s writing center and drafts grants on the side. In the past, Austin has worked as a homeless shelter organizer, a janitor, and a dishwasher. His work has been most recently published in the Works…
-
Consider The Cause
by Laurinda Lind It is a Covid year and in our townno one has died of Covid, this is a functionof greographic access more thanmutual consideration since no one here wantsto believe that what has come to us has cometo us, after all who says it is a Covid year,only immunologists and don’t they eat…
-
Everybody dies, I have to, too, but
by Gale Acuff I don’t know when and sometimes I wish Idid so that I could prepare for it but thenat least I know that I will even thoughI don’t know the exact time, and come tothink about it maybe there’s no time atall involved, at least not to me, when Idie that is though…
-
Fly Fishing
by Michael Steffen So much leaping and letting go,flicking your wrist to a shadowyou thread line through, lacingsurface to writhing depth,summoning tension. Between rocks,cutthroat and rainbow shelter.Entice the unseenwith a four-count rhythm,slice the air with a gentle arcand let your line lay downacross the back of another world.Retrieve. Repeat. You are searchingfor something shimmering, deepand…
-
The Good Ending
by Gabriela V. Everett You never failed. You never told those secrets. The night with the whiskey and carnever happened.The mail-order brides all ended up happy. Your rival gave you roses and said,“I’ve always loved you, you know.” The nightmares stopped. You forgave yourself, the one who lives in the timeline next door,and she cried:thank…
-
Sirens
by Michael Steffen The woman you wake to with sudden intensityis certain you’re guilty of something,but she’s not sure what—your dream already folded its tent,though, still, you taste some salty desire.There are spaces in a marriageno number of long-stemmed roses can fill,where trust is a tactic, tenderness a tease, the sex—a little too much like…
-
After Hours
by RC deWinter sing me a new songin the key of longingfiltered through the shadowsof everything you ever wished fori promise not to laughor be dismissivei recognize the colorof the those shadowsmelancholy’s hazy haloloneliness in almost midnight bluei too am a dreamerwith my own songa wisheron the gentle evening starthere’s music in your voicewisdom in…
-
grazing
by RC deWinter grazingthere’s a slyness in the changeable lightof winterthe morning sun often nothing but a tease slain by snowcloudsblowing infrom the southeast blanketing the sky with grey wooldamp heavywith its burden of moisture that will be transformed intotiny starsnot a twin among them falling in a baptism of frigid kissesbriefly burningany skin exposed…
-
The Geometry of Telephone Poles
by Yuna Kang I remember him like the last of dewdrops before it storms out, sunny, the morning vestiges of blistering light. And of course he is not really like that. I remember him when it was the last time we went up to Tahoe in late spring to see the last of the winter…