Author: Heavy Feather

Five Poems by Wren Hanks

My Binder is a Thundershirt ™ I need something stiff to breathe against like He-Man’s armor. Like the anti-anxiety jacket I velcroed around shaking terriers when I was a dog walker. Back then I zipped my hoodie to my neck. I wore Doc Martens & got muscle-skinny, riding the subway in giant headphones and licking…
“it speak(s),” a poem by Bryan Byrdlong

1. my fellow Americans we all float here, in this milleu in this atmosphere. In DIS gravity be a wishing well a penny for your thoughts and desires to come true, the American dream, but lately I’ve heard talk of an American fear. And so, we are gathered…
Poetry: Erika Luckert’s “Sonnet in case of disaster”

Put as many books as possible between you and the blast put as many bricks as possible as many walls as books between you and the blast will be big enough to breach as many bricks as this building has, its walls lined with books and those books lined with line after line will you…
Two Stories from Gary Oldman Is a Building You Must Walk Through, a novel by Forrest Roth

The Signature of a Gentle Man As Sid Vicious You and I stare at the signature of the Gary Oldman your famous sister met in Los Angeles. That is: the handwriting your famous sister procured with or without the real Gary Oldman, which, at first, appears to be independent of an ordinary human hand—if there…
“Storage Failure,” a one-act play by Austin Bunn

YOUNG AUSTIN (seven), backlit, reads a book and crosses the stage to a chair. He is very much not looking where he is going. A silhouette, an outline, a memory. SOUND FX: a swarm of bees, slowly intensifying. AUSTIN (now), in aisle. He wants to tell you something. AUSTIN: That was me. In the backyard…
Four Poems by Rachel Ann Brickner

Harvest Frame Inside the picture I felt a little lovable like a little kid version of myself again—adored and adoring, doting and doted—and I thought how lovely it is to be a picture, to stand still amidst fixed elements—a flower just gone to seed, my lover’s hand forever in my grasp, the child growing inside…
“Deus Le Colt,” a poem by Nancy Hightower

After the lone wolf Judas has killed himself,believing he disrupted the status quo here’s how the script will play outhere’s how the words will leave your mouth: White men in the West: We need guns to hunt for foodWhite men in the East: We need guns to protect our familiesWomen and children trace the pattern…
Three Poems by Jill M. Talbot

They Put My Name in a Museum There are just as many in the “write what you know”and the “write what you don’t” camps, like protestorswho don’t realize their signs are the same, only indifferent languages: duck or rabbit. They put my name in a museum, and I was foolishenough to complain that they described…
“x is God,” a poem by Success Akpojotor

L = R L + x = R + xL – x = R – xL(x) = R(x), x not abhorrence L/x = R/x, x not loathing the equation is in turmoil tossed to the floor like a drunk, reeling to and fro. but the golden rule of equation commands: do unto the left side…