- December 10, 2022
I see that I am a form in space, sitting and waiting. The red light as alive as my lungs and my kidneys. The car in front of me, the car beside me, the drivers and passengers behind their
Menu
Featured Content
- November 23, 2022
She examined her hands meticulously like a bark beetle examines maple branches. A stone-eating politeness permeated her voice. As she spoke, the yachts in the bay, their sails folded, glittered in the sunlight– splinters in the body of an
- May 9, 2022
The first night in the city I saw the sticker of a skeleton and roses on the back window of a rust orange Nova, I think, and smelled the scent of jasmine wafting through the open windows of a
- April 22, 2022
This is how it is now in these times. What grows around me matters big time. The sunflowers and the nasturtium seed planted in giant plastic containers. The tiny sprouts in the morning grown taller, little leaves and stems
- April 22, 2022
I feel for the antediluvian forests Being systemically cut for American lumber for building Spreading more civilization, European biomass for burning As factory-made fuel, new Means to spoil the air— Critters of the trees, of wings and paws, Forced
- February 16, 2022
Too often lately, on my nightly walk I make out a form half in shadow down the block. I’m sure that she or he waits on their dog, but closer it’s the work of dark and fog. More clearly
We read submissions on a rolling basis
