• Jane Armstrong

    Gri-Gri

    Early in our asso­ci­a­tion, the Warrior Poet said, “I’m a war­rior poet.  Before I walk into a place, I look around to make sure I can kill every­one in the room with my bare hands.”

    Now the Warrior Poet is dead.  Self-inflict­ed.

    My father.  WWII.  U.S. Army, front­line infantry.  Battle of the Bulge.  Bronze Star.  Purple Heart.

    Before he shoots him­self, he tries to take a cou­ple of peo­ple out with him.  My evil ex-step­moth­er, her cur­rent hus­band.  The bul­lets graze the hus­band, but miss the step­moth­er.  She hits the floor, plays dead, and prays and prays to her snow-globe Jesus, her cow face pressed against filthy car­pet.

  • Margaret Benjamin

    It came to him him that ten of his thir­ty face­book friends had breast can­cer and were run­ning run­ning races.
    ~
    Margaret Benjamin is the author of “Turtles and Magic,” a chap­book. She lives with her part­ner in Fresno, California, where she avoids going out­side.

  • Inspiring Films

  • Meg Pokrass

  • Eugene Corr

    Ended up in SF head­ed back to BART after mid­night — girls in their teens and twen­ties in tight shiny dress­es, high heels, make­up, care­ful­ly coiffed and sexy a few hours before but now stum­bling, hair­dos com­ing apart, dress seams split­ting on the heav­ier girls, the skin­ny girls with pim­ples in back­less dress­es, shiv­er­ing in the cold: some­thing adorable, vul­ner­a­ble, and inef­fa­bly ten­der. The boys/young –more

  • Cooper Renner

    Nurse Normal

    Nurse nor­mal,” the swain says every time the baby cries. “Like the cows do.”

    Nurse nor­mal with the naïve genius of the squat.

    Nurse the mere­ly dumb who can nei­ther mum­ble nor squeak.

    Nurse the bland and faint who wake to the scent of scones and mus­sels, who hate you and your mam­maries, who have noth­ing to throw at you, not even a fit.

    Sweet, aren’t they sweet?” he says, count­ing on the fin­gers of –more

  • Once was

  • Stolen message

    Scott Wright: Impact trau­ma is a term that we use to dif­fer­en­ti­ate dif­fer­ent things that might have caused the birds to appear the way they do when we con­duct the necrop­sy, which is an autop­sy of ani­mals. And what we look for are spe­cif­ic appear­ance of organs and blood and so forth that might be where it’s not sup­posed to be and that sort of thing, as a result of the birds strik­ing –more

  • Be not ubiquitous.

  • Kara Candito feature

    Please check the new poet­ry fea­ture with Kara Candito. Poems present­ly, an inter­view and video to come.

  • On comments & other notes

    We have been alert­ed that some folk who wished to com­ment on var­i­ous pieces in the new issue were unable to com­ment because com­ments are closed. This is site pol­i­cy–we have nev­er inten­tion­al­ly encour­aged piece-by-piece com­ments. We have many rea­sons for this, chief among them that casu­al com­ments, such as make up the great major­i­ty of such things on the Web, are rarely more than –more

  • Bestiarum Vocabulum

    My Father’s Hand In Mine

  • Brad Watson feature

    We are hap­py to pro­vide the first mag­a­zine pub­li­ca­tion, and first online pub­li­ca­tion, of the title sto­ry from Brad Watson’s first book, Last Days of the Dog-Men, pub­lished in 1996 and cur­rent­ly avail­able in paper­back from W.W. Norton. We include a brief bio and a short inter­view con­duct­ed by our own Meg Pokrass.  Go there now.