Category: Print Archives
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Three Poems by Jasmine An
Film Analysis Techniques Whose perspective does the camera represent? Whose eyes? I stare. How am I any different than the hungry sockets of men? What if my hand slips between my legs? What if I moan? Which sounds are diegetic? What if I moan? The music is supposed to be Mandarin. The soldiers are shouting…
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“Torture Horse,” a poem by Jessie Janeshek
See my body moveso many nuclear beauties in tinfoildraping the rage. My mouth is too smallto matter to anyone.Just eat the hooves, the woods, you can leave Niagara Falls a restoration labyrinthine a curvy woman in a wasp costumein the copper hallway. Sometimes I’m absorbent or my poison failsand I try to bite off your…
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Nonfiction Essay: Philip James Shaw’s “when i’m having a difficult time maintaining my concentration with regard to certain aspects of my most immediate surroundings”
when i am away to work.I can work. I can even go away to work. I work as well as I can. Even though it changes, I am keeping up. A hotel room is a cleanser of sleep, of my life. Devoid of attachments, I splay myself out on the King, in less than boxer…
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Poetry by Brian D. Morrison: “The Idea of Canaries”
Psychoanalysis tells us the secretof healthy living: speech. Unspokenthoughts can travel at light speedramped to the power of 1938, the yearFreud’s four sisters were not savable. He joked, I can most highly recommendthe Gestapo to everyone. He could saylittle more and filled his throatwith canaries. The birds would sing,and then silence. Canary after canary stopped…
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Gregory Lee Sullivan: Three Fictions
The Cow with a Hole in It I know all you want to do is stare at the hole in my side. How you’ve never seen one like me, even on the university farms. You want one of your girlfriends to go to my other side and stick her head through toward where you’re standing…
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Three Fables by Danilo John Thomas
Where These Rivers Start Fast Joe, I was there the day you began to rain. We were walking home from track practice, a walk that led us down alleys filled with rusting garbage cans, dented and filled with dried weeds. Dry Town was a dusty dry town after all. The rain had not fallen there…
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Three Poems by Brandon Shimoda
Blind Children What is the first thing you remember?Kicking my sisterMy father hitting me with sticksLying next to my motherBeing hit, I can feel itWhen I rememberMother saying, But he’s a miracle, whenThe doctor said, He has 48 hours. Desert Poems I have some artwork I want to sellPaintings, I’ve been making some real nice…
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Poetry by Philip Schaefer: “Radial Glow”
In the America of my fistthe rats drew blood. You let them. You soaked mewith hydrogen saying don’twince, become. I am still not your motherfucker.The coal train gliding by in the mirrorof your eyes is lost in 2 directions. This is my mouth on drugs: graba shovel and dig. Say somethingcruel and watch it dissolve.…
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Zach VandeZande Fiction: “Imperative”
It is night and the feeling is coming on again. You know the one. There are rules for dealing with this, a blunt methodology we have devised over time. Stay awake. Don’t stop thinking. Don’t let it wash over you the way it does. Find something to do. The knight Wallace makes his way up…
Heavy Feather Review 