Category: Print Archives

Fiction: “What Is Left” by Jen Michalski

You’re making good time. Keep this up, the splits will be amazing. There’s one guy ahead, a kid, really, who won’t even feel this tomorrow, the pain of achievement, his legs like spokes on a bicycle wheel, cycling, cycling, all legs and concave torso, a kid who hasn’t grown into form, into ache. You are…
Claire Polders: “Amsterdam,” a hybrid fiction

Aerial shot. The sun rises over a city of semicircles. Traffic noises are punctuated by shrieking gulls. The camera pans down, getting closer and closer to the earth until figures emerge on a street split in half by a misted canal. I – EconomyNothing is permanent except for the creation of junk. Bicycles. Umbrellas. Handbags…
“Poem” by Ryan Mills

Or is it all but that rock(s)grey courtyard naked trees. & It is all but that this isFall & much Septemberalive & of. Throw pebbles at the sky;“ ing “ “ “ se words;they say wind or wind chimes. Months pass by mistressedmattresses pebbly & one to climbthey say wind or wind & It goes…
Anne Riesenberg: “The Leaves Will Protect Us,” a hybrid work

I am traveling through a country slowly catching on fire. Past towns simmering on dusty hillsides, bleached fields rattling in the sun. A girl walks towards me with a car balanced on top of her head—just the shell of it, no engine or wheels. The girl is swathed ankles to neck in a quilted jumpsuit.…
Fiction by Claire Hopple: “A Catalogue of Leavings”

The situation really started to seem desperate after the death of a fake plant. Its fabric elephant ears were found shorn straight down the middle, fuzzy with the crosshatching of thread at the break. We knew maintaining a real one would be too much for either one of us, so this had seemed like a…
Poetry by C.T. McGaha: “2 Blessed 2 Be Stressed”

the older i getthe harder it getsto believe in mydarkest heart ofhearts that chekhov’sgun was everloaded. take a look at thatsalamander atthe parkscurryingacross the monkeybars and tell methat the sun‘ll still risein the eastwhen i die. C.T. McGaha is a writer from Charlotte, North Carolina. He founded and co-edits Vanilla Sex Magazine. His work has…
Two Poems by Joe Milazzo

Yaphet Kotto Stardust doesn’t matter when you’re WillRobinson-ed in the cleft of the leading man’schin, this rift tantamount to a laser show itselfthe envy of the shock and awe dropping its nothinglike nothing under the sun. Meanwhile,what would the sun’s shadow look like, I wonder,panning for lens flares in the unmappedfolds of this hurtling doom…
“Joe West’s Brother”: A Short Story by Siamak Vossoughi

The beautiful thing about fighting fascism, eighty-nine-year-old Joe West was saying, is that if you die, you die on the side of every work of art ever created, even the bad ones, you die on the side of every book and every song and every painting, and every one of them belongs to you now…
Prose Poem: “distant constricted arteries” by Jim Warner

—even still, the shoe polish sky’s chicken and beneath it we are racing towards abandoned storefronts. Pop promise from blister pack. The foil backing is a silver thumbprint, is a sentence fragment, is a mission accomplished, is the remainder left on a passenger seat. Rumbling gulp. Dry swallows. You are not a choking victim. There…