Five Poems

BY Joseph Grantham,
bank robbery #8 i was a professional baseball player known for my bunting she pronounced boise like ‘boy-see’ i pronounced boise like ‘boy-zee’ someone could have written a song about us it would have been a hit and it would…

Two Poems

BY CL Young,
PHOTO OF A VASE SMASHED ON PAVEMENT when you wake up too early unable to explain what sleep took I don't know what else to drop or what to do with the time between now and when the snow stays through July just to show which flowers live…

Three Hypothetical Video Games

BY Daniel Hornsby,
Racehorse Run Few play Racehorse Run as its designers intended. The racetracks and horses, the jockeys and gambling, all amount to the mildest of entertainments at best. Only its backgrounds—the wispy clouds and lush tree lines, the beautiful…

BLACK HEART BLACK
HEART BLACK HEART

BY Adam Soldofsky,
what were we talking about when the door swung open on the mystery we were describing i think the same thing differently the way i see it good and evil harmonize more or less in us the way you see it beauty pulls hiddenness over…

Two Poems

BY Shy Watson,
ANTIFREEZE whatever i guess i am imagery early 2000’s? white lincoln towncar i drive behind because i am too drunk to drive (without you) ahead of me in your car i get it in my dreams i pull over on the exit make my friends drive immediately…

Lake Erie

BY Tyler Barton,
The brothers planned to treat the wedding like a family reunion, intended to prove who was still and who was never. The wife-to-be was worried, but the groom insisted these guys were saviors—that day at the lake, running to him with their…

I Want Your Skull When You Die

BY Julia Dixon Evans & Ryan Bradford,
ALLIE It's winter when she asks. Though it's never really winter here. It's mid 60s out, and we stand beneath a king palm tree. "What if I asked you to go out to the desert?" She pauses. "To help me dig a grave?" "Lou," I say. "You're…

Two Poems

BY Angie Sijun Lou,
Yesterday I was freaking out And you said don't look at the faces behind the counter just look at me. Look at me not the moon so full like it ate too much. Last week a slivered hangnail, now a belly swollen, a pixel darkly, drop of…

Bring the Half and Half and Spill It

BY Kate Jayroe,
The Prodigal Son cannot wait for his old bathtub of a mother to croak. He says to the bathtub, Mother, I very much would like my inheritance. Unfortunately for us both, health smoothies continue to afford you a long, undeserved existence here…