River It’s not true that sand is uncountable. Everything is when you have enough time, vats. The woods, inevitably, are satire to the...

In the Coal Dark On the edge of town, brick tenements rise impoverished monoliths at the end of the world Grackles gather concrete stoops...

Two Days Before My Mother’s Diagnosis She’d just come in, sniffling from the cold, to call. She told me how she’d shoveled snow, two feet...

Aubade Before the sun blushes they pack pick-ups, snail the road. Earthworms jerk loose leftover moon from mud under walnut hulls. In...

by Charity Anastasio The vampire squid— who looks like an octopus with a luscious red skirt— will curl her lower body up around her whole...

by Anna Chu I scrutinized over the lines on my palm. Kids my age spoke of a tale where an M on your palm meant you will marry in your...

by Dani Putney July 8, 1989 Dear Jasmin, Greetings from the Golden State of California your photo and brief description compelled me to...

F R O M A M E A D O W A S Y L U M T H I R T Y L A R K S R E I G N I L L To those who say NO to dark nests burdening the branch breaking...

by Mateo Lara we carry the strands of our DNA on this thin glass. Hand to Hand. And you touch it. I touch it. we cross our hands together...

by Tacey M. Atsitty To 鄭福成 I write about a vase, recycled glass: every grave life brought to display its slender stalks, puffy winter...

by Robin Gow I’m burying my voice in a collapsing star because that’s how I want to talk right now. I open my mouth and I feel the roof...

Towns That Trigger There are places where it’s not safe to walk After dark When you’ve had too much or not enough to drink In the...

by Kim Roger Abi Zeid Daou Full of Dream by Kim Roger Abi Zeid Daou Kim Roger Abi Zeid Daou is a storyteller, poet, and PhD student at...

by Tufik Shayeb you touch the screen with a trembling hand, secretly hoping you could scratch away the words like the black letters of an...

by Sara Dovre Wudali Photo by Mahadev Dovre Wudali Sara Dovre Wudali is a writer and editor from Saint Paul. Her work has been published...

A Poem About Loneliness This is a poem about loneliness, it is a self-conscious poem, a stomping through space poem,

Issue Two: May 23, 2019 I had to block out the light Cover the windows hide reflections light bouncing off snow blue...

HOW THE CORPSES SPEAK ABOUT THE APOCALYPSE In the foreground, we happened before, off-camera, and after newscasters ran out of air.

Los Santos de la República There have been so many gods I’ve loved My sex is devoted and dedicated to Eros Excessive examinations religious

When You Come Back as Queen of the Night teeth will dance in a velvet mouth, an old crow will cauterize peridot

SELF–PORTRAIT WITH TORN SHEETS of music: left to smolder the broken bed                 while the body is abandoned

A CHURCH IN BRONZEVILLE a golden shovel for Gwendolyn Brooks my cupped hands full of honey, and you can’t see it there but

In Movies, The Apocalypse is always nigh, drives the ache in the head of the unsung genius deeper as he circumnavigates

About the Author THE GIRL wonders: If the emotional equivalent of tornadic wind is a particular kind of fury, under what conditions will

BALDWIN RIFF The whole world is burning, but I’m still not sweating.

The Burnt Lands Relict, postglacial. The retreat of the ice carving across the limestone pavement.

vext glinting in the endless, scrolling river of my feed a shard of hatred cut me

Souls and signs in liquid language raven recalls not the haunting, but its absence

East Point Lighthouse, PEI We stand at East Point Lighthouse, stare at a sign that reads: “The end of the world as we know it”

No Peace In December 1986, Carlos Paz Jr., an 18-year-old high school student, shot his mother, father, and 10-year-old sister to death