• Nate Lippens ~ Pompeii

    Rudy and I talk on the phone late at night, often from one or two until dawn. He lives in New Orleans and I live in Wisconsin. Both of us have returned to our home states after decades away in New York, Los Angeles, and Berlin.

    When I was still liv­ing –more

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  • Pavle Radonic  ~ The Hearth

    The Hearth (Montenegro)

    The fuck­ing of the sun had always irri­tat­ed and wound­ed Bab. It was uncouth and seemed to her to be as unholy as the fuck­ing of God, Jesus and even worse, the moth­er. The worst her father had ever cursed was the fuck­ing of the goat.

    Our house guest –more

  • Michael Borth ~ The Tsar Bomba

    It was not snow but pure ash
    in the after­white of the sun­y­olk of the Tsar Bomba.
    The peo­ple were gone, fast and delet­ed.
    I walked in the supreme qui­et.
    The screams were inhaled by the aman­hecer.
    The trou­bles were sim­pli­fied –more

  • Andy Plattner ~ At the Democrat Museum in Madisonville, Kentucky

    My moth­er and I sit at oppo­site ends of her kitchen table. I drove up from Memphis this morn­ing, at the urg­ing of my two sis­ters, who say they’re get­ting wor­ried. They want me to call after­wards, get my impres­sions. My moth­er and I are wear­ing face­masks. –more

  • Callan Preece ~ The Virtue of Plastics

    Then he stopped want­i­ng sex. Then he stopped talk­ing much at all. At his worst he’d pace through rooms and the air would adhere and fol­low him and all the time you could feel all these thoughts going through his head—these images of syphilis and –more

  • Mercury-Marvin Sunderland ~ One Albino Bug Crawling On A Piece Of Moss

    One albi­no bug crawl­ing on a piece of moss.
    Long anten­nae.
    Simple legs.
    It jumps, fly­ing down onto a piece of pine.
    Walking across sand and grav­el. Crawls across a stick.
    A dead albi­no moth –more

  • Kim Chinquee ~ Catnip

    I fold the paper, wait­ing at the din­er. Sip my water, check my phone for the time. The guy is late: my date, who I met online. I look out the win­dow: the moon like clumps.

    The paper has a pic­ture of a guy want­ed for killing some­one in the trop­ics. –more

  • Jane Armstrong ~ Notes from Annabelle Next Door (age four)

    Scream as loud­ly as you can at ran­dom times, day or night, with­out shame or apol­o­gy.

    Sing the music in your head with­out regard to melody or rhythm. Performing out­side announces your pres­ence and asserts your iden­ti­ty.

    Shout “Hi, neigh­bor!” –more

  • Kevin Tosca ~ Mature Concern

    A cou­ple of tall, healthy, pros­per­ous, fra­grant young Canadians, one from Winnipeg, the oth­er from Saskatoon, in my liv­ing room tonight defend­ing the idea of the week­end and their God-giv­en right to play a lit­tle club music on Friday night.

    I calm­ly –more

  • Pavle Radonic ~ Jakarta 1440H

    The Witching Hour

    The knock on the door came short­ly after 3. Wooden par­ti­cle board mak­ing the light rap resound, of course at that hour espe­cial­ly. In the days pri­or there had been some con­cern an illic­it arrange­ment on that side of Jakarta might not be met with a –more

  • Tao Lin ~ Meditation

    Somewhat com­plex grumpi­ness
    on the precipice of a beau­ti­ful world
    in a lov­ing, mag­i­cal uni­verse
    sym­bi­ot­ic with virus­es and bac­te­ria
    Persistent, intru­sive thoughts
    Chemical vir­tu­al real­i­ties
    Diatribing in pub­lic

  • Harris Lahti ~ Exquisite Corpse

    The back­yard gar­den is a fenced-in pool of murky black Jell‑O that sucks and belch­es up Heather’s feet as she col­lects its mon­strous and mishap­pen pro­duce into wick­er baskets—onions the size of bowl­ing balls, car­rots bent at right angles, apples –more

  • Corey Miller ~ zoo woman real bad

    She entered the tiger exhib­it as one of them; lick­ing her paws as if pricked by thorns, prowl­ing the lim­it­ed space, wait­ing for raw meat to plop down when and where it did every­day. the oth­er tigers observed her as an imposter, but the chil­dren around –more

  • Todd Clay Stuart ~ Accessories

    She was half angel, half angel dust, with eyes like coal mines that could cave in any time. Wore my dirty tee shirts straight off the floor. Wrote i love the fuck out of you in pur­ple lip­stick on the cracked bath­room mir­ror; keyed when –more