Liquid Knowledge

by Sam Smiley Rosy cheeks and bubbly thoughtsfloating up to the heavens and out of our headsbefore we can elaborate.Our tongues are tied in knots;I giggle when your words escape you.Parched lips wake at fourlonging to be quenchedhazy brainhazy eyeshazy headI sway like there is music playingthat only I can hear.I am here and hot … Continue reading Liquid Knowledge

False Liberation

by John Grey In this rescue of a dream, the door’s flung open, all guards are fast asleep, there’s light at the end of the corridor, stairs leading up to the world, friends waiting with a fresh horse, a splendid gallop into the highlands, through the mountain pass, and into the euphoric land of my … Continue reading False Liberation


by Shawn Anto hummingbirds like to drink from the trumpet-shaped flowers. and the buzzing bees like the broad flat flowers like the marigold. they drink and wallow ‘til they are covered all over with nectar. you follow a bee from one flower to the next, see which direction they go, eventually, finding its home. the … Continue reading Stun

Remembering Lance

by Stephen Jackson Lance was born in the pale, a drift of seed &&&&could pass through that flesh, a twist of ivy’d &&&&&&&&&be a gift to bones so frail. Veins blued out in the crux of an elbow, spine puzzle-pieced &&&&from neck to tailbone, sun’d catch his skin &&&&&&&&the way a ship’s sail catches wind. … Continue reading Remembering Lance

Little Bird

by Anushka Bidani i. how terrifyingloneliness can feellike a dumb mouth shaping wordsinto an empty void. ifold papers intro cranes, setthem on the table, waitingfor guests that never arriveon time. ii. how terrifyingdiscomfiture can feellike acid in your blood burningyou from the inside-out. ispeak a little less, tracingpatterns on painfully softunscarred flesh. iii. how terrifyingliving … Continue reading Little Bird

Michael | Stoned

by  Stephen Jackson He is most certainly not the line stretched taut for clothes from back porch to telephone pole in a scorch of August tar-melt gripping wood and rusty hook— a perch for two black birds. He may be, however, the thought of it—everything hanging slack in this heat, he is more or less … Continue reading Michael | Stoned