A New Place.

by Stephen Thomas

“Let’s find a new place to get to.” “Hell yes.” We took off on bikes, up one-way streets and past churches and stores on the other sides of bridges....


by David Huebert

  What if it had been you, that day at the pool with Drew and Theo, and you’d bumped into Jen Hamilton and Tessa Brown? What if you’d never met...


General Preamble.

by Shane Neilson

  They looked and knew what was wrong. Your face designed to break and break again on illness. Blood and alcohol the rural isolate you wear as ...

Two Poems.

by Allison LaSorda

Down with exhaustion Dank sunrise below Pink Mountain. You groan out of your tent, stretching the heels of your hands onto the pad of beige gravel b...

On MC Hammer’s Birthday.

by Annik Adey-Babinski

After Frank O’Hara   This morning went out to North Miami more 95 than I’d like in a day Eddie told me he remembered the bike I was talking abo...

Two Poems.

by Natalia Panzer

CODEX BORGIA  This recording filters the voice of the poet through Google Translate and the Armenian language.   Potatoes blind but not deaf ca...

Two Poems.

by Theodore Worozbyt

Black Circus A grey grape hangs from my spine. The phone is ringing steadily, insistently, with no intent of stopping. I snap the Chinese privets th...

Two Poems.

by Michelle Brown

Kite Festival   As the sun cauterized, the kites began their crumpled descent from dragon to dithering rat, snaking at the ankles of toddlers. ...

Two Poems.

by Jeff Latosik

  The Internet I first heard about it in a Burger King. Its aims seemed as elusive as the stock ticker or why some people stayed in marriages. ...



Shaking the Past Awake: A Review of Gillian Sze’s Peeling Rambutan and Sandy Pool’s Undark: An Oratorio.

by Ryan Pratt

Historically, the act of writing is valued as a means of recording the past. A recent example of this is the discovery that Neanderthals dabbled in cave drawings. At a press conference celebrating the find, anthropologists presented proofs regarding the sketches’ age and deliberate nature but offered no conjecture on any particular meaning. Despite the 300,000 year divide, shouldn’t those slender carvings still bear some resonance? Isn’t the past worth interpreting? The trouble with perceiving time as its own precise language is that time’s linear ticking cannot pause, reverse, or in any way oblige the way we create, question, and revise memories. Historians can keep counting forward, but in their wake, time transforms the past, making it phenomenal, precious, or unfamiliar. Even a grocery list begins to accumulate interest if left in the pocket long enough. And in Gillian Sze’s Peeling Rambutan, the afterglow of past generations is resuscitated into a pilgrimage …...