by Madison Kalia I remember you. You were the first I knew to die I still have your photos, maybe even the letters The picture of the flowers tucked in the frame of my mirror […]
literary + art magazine
Category: poetry
Clean Bugs, Dirty Carpet
by Brett Stout The trending of negative scars, the warzone isn’t out there it’s in here, the militant swans of the underground resistance movement renting ghetto apartments with bad credit and worse souls in an […]
Poem by Simon Perchik
To remind you how long before white becomes invisible –you fold this dish cloth over and over as if each splash is wiped with a cry making room the way an old love song turns […]
Apocrypha
by RC deWinter my life is a grimoire scribed in invisible ink on vellum that crumbles at a touch unreadable and even if it were you wouldn’t want to a history of wrong choice attributable […]
Four Poems
by Birdy Asya We are inventive people. Funny robbers. Little pirates. I hide behind the bushes And giggle softly. Childhood. I read fairy tales to people at night. They are asking. I am stroking hands […]
cul-de-sac
by RC deWinter as i sit in the bitter wind of a place I never thought could exist i contemplate the nature of mortality. can the mind survive without feeling? is there really a soul, […]
Guilt Study
by Philip Berry eighteen eyes on me now lids closing like they’re ready to pray craters in the wall, bleeding brick dust, leaking sideways in the evening breeze gun spray in a border town for […]
Stages
by Philip Berry transition sleep flows beneath the streets. streams weave without direction. colours churn, ripples glisten, unfinished plots move near edges ready to dissolve in dawn’s pale light the insomniac hears the trickle & […]
In the Brick
by Philip Berry in thirty sentient years the tide has ridden the quay forty thousand times the stone in the brick &containing the promise I set remains unchanged seamless heart &prize unseen i do not […]
Fear Is Constrained Like a Title
by Parker G. Jamieson September sunset— Please, call me when you get home— backroom dial tone. No—I remember the long morning, you took straw and sculpted a sun. Footsteps in the hall— The fiery […]
