Latest Writing
POETRY
-
THE ANGELS by Maria Hummel
They have not come for you. They will not blister the day with light and swords. The room remains a room, and not a portal. The syringes hold no messages, not even plain emptiness. The food trays, when you eat food, rattle if I move them, and, if left alone,
-
DEAR SUBURB, by David Roderick
Some blunt hammering set me off, that and the teeth of a saw. I left behind my sweater, the remains of a sandwich, my camera, some paperweights, my lament. I left behind a few weak coals I’d blown alive.
-
AUBADE IN PIECES by Victoria Lynne McCoy
Even as I deliver my body to the subway’s tenebrous mercy, I cannot un-know this: each time daylight invades our limbs, the sun marching its restless armies up the sheets, my love will put entire states between us
FICTION
TRANSLATION
From the Archives
Join our mailing list
Receive new issues and featured work in your inbox.