• Erica Jenks Henry ~ In Bed Today

    I’m in bed today. I can’t get out. I hear peo­ple, heavy foot­steps on the rick­ety porch where we some­times sit at a table and talk at dusk. I hear peo­ple knock­ing on the door, call­ing my name, espe­cial­ly Estelle. She was sup­posed to come help with –more

  • Alamgir Hashmi ~ Virus Regulation

    a son­net sequence

    You are lucky you have your masks,
    near­ly all your per­son­al protective
    equip­ment. And you have your
    instruc­tions. The virus protocol
    is a com­plete code of life.
    Use the Coronavirus –more

  • Gary Percesepe ~ Trump’s WrestleMania

    It occurred to me today that The Occupant is like a pro­fes­sion­al wrestler. His con­tin­u­ous­ly aggriev­ed per­sona is devoid of any inte­ri­or­i­ty, a boom­ing, buzzing con­fu­sion of self-ref­er­en­tial signs con­tin­u­ous­ly sig­ni­fy­ing. His face is a mask, as in antiq­ui­ty, –more

  • Marc Frazier ~ Three Poems

    Journal of the Plague Years: Two

    I pick words like fruit, feel­ing for those most preg­nant with mean­ing
    but not already hav­ing meant.
    A man is an island. How to guard on so many fronts?
    I’ll drop by the poem store today, –more

  • Carl Boon ~ Four Poems


    In Pyongyang City we pause
    at the founders’ portraits.
    For a moment we are mesmerized
    and then move on—some will dance
    near the foun­tains at Mansudae
    and some will board the train
    for the north­ern provinces.

    Life’s a spec­ta­cle of ghosts
    in –more

  • Positions

  • Pavle Radonic ~ Prayer, Rage, Meditation


    One hun­dred and ten meters to the top of Mount Faber on old, cracked steps fringed with cool aro­mat­ic green­ery that hint­ed at the for­mer jun­gle. Long-tailed squir­rels mis­tak­en for rats in the first glimpses; mynahs the only vis­i­ble bird-life and the –more

  • Lindsey Danis ~ Wait Before Sending


    Hey dude, I know your birth­day is com­ing up and I was think­ing of you. Sorry we lost touch. Just want­ed to say hi.


    Hey dude, Your birth­day is com­ing up and some­times I think about you, and about reach­ing out to say hey.

    I’ve been back to San –more

  • Michael Grant Smith ~ Scraps

    we sang as we loaded the cat­a­pults and launched new days. the pay­load was potent and we aimed for the horizon.
              ~ Graffiti at the Municipal Government Center ruins

    Franklin Ritter slept beneath a blan­ket of bees. He curved his back until –more

  • Alan Rossi ~ Nathaniel

    from the novel Mountain Road, Late at Night, from Picador 9/1/20

    Nathaniel observed – alter­nat­ing between vary­ing degrees of clar­i­ty and con­fu­sion, doubt that resolved into cer­tain­ty, which in turn mor­phed into ques­tion­ing – his cen­tral role in the numer­ous dis­cus­sions among the fam­i­ly mem­bers about where the –more

  • Kate Finlinson ~ Exaltation

    We were young Mormon girls incu­ri­ous about good groom­ing, resigned to greasy hair that stuck to our fore­heads and dan­druff from the dry salt air, itchy in our desert skin and mod­est in our dress. We were fas­ci­nat­ed with our flaws—even high­ly con­cerned –more

  • Meg Pokrass & Aimee Parkison ~ New Frontier

    Inspired by New Frontier by Donald Fagen

    My dad he’s crazy, but he’s smart, and he’s built a bunker to keep the plague, the reds, and the ram­pant fires away. We’re gonna have a shindig in here, he says, lug­ging in car­tons of beer, –more

  • Wilson Koewing ~ Cocktail Onion

    In the Summer of his 42nd year, D.B Welk was award­ed the Pritzker prize in archi­tec­ture for con­ceiv­ing a futur­is­tic apart­ment build­ing in Denver, Colorado with no park­ing spaces and no units larg­er than 300 square feet. He designed the struc­ture –more

  • Anon ~ Poetry

    Hey–is that you
    On a bal­cony in
    Some God-forsaken
    Foreign land, on
    A bal­cony in the
    High mountains
    With your feet up
    On a plas­tic chair
    Writing poetry?

  • Pavle Radonic ~ Billboards Up To the Sky

    Heartily sick, sick to the back teeth of these blast­ed Superdry sem­a­phores bear­ing down on every street and lane, whichev­er way you turn. A plague of dun­der­heads crawl­ing over the earth dis­play­ing their mem­ber­ship of the asso­ci­a­tion. Market –more