Please give yourself a quiet moment to enjoy Impossible Task.
Christopher Hadin: Little Boxes
Bradford walked into the office with his head cocked severely to the side, holding his thin phone in place. "Yes . . . yes. Okay. I'll look the minute I sit down."
Kristin Garth: In Woods They Whittle A New Doll
It takes journalists, directed to the site, / three hours to hike, in sunlight, brush covered / trail, a rocky terrain
Chris Biles: 5 Poems
I practice punching / at the kitchen table / on the couch / in my sleep / I make a fist
Nikia Chaney: 5 Poems
going to spell h.o.m.e. like koolaid red and slippery but not / pulsing or heart in palm or the rat tat / of flesh against wall
Jessica Purdy: 4 Poems
Remarkable this mother-body. / Its cervix having ripened twice / and now its uterus removed. / Doorway to nowhere.
Christina M. Rau: 4 Poems
When it cries it’s not a weep / but a cracking high pitched / slow controlled
MICHAEL CHANG: 5 Poems
this 互相傷害 / this reciprocal torture / bird brain / if you have this idea, i can, too
Emily J. Mundy: 3 Poems
The nosedive into oblivion / sweeps through me like a white sea carnival / rips through a sleepy town
Kevin Bertolero: Un Chant d’Amour
Clocking in at just twenty-six minutes, this silent black and white film was the only film ever directed by Genet…
Kika Dorsey: 3 Poems
The calculus of heaven / is y approaching infinity, / and when you graph it / it rises in a line
Angela Gabrielle Fabunan: 3 Poems
I’m not as old as the painters would have it / I’m ageless in this age of monsters.
Brad Petit: Kevin Takes the Stairs
Not because he’s overweight, although he is. Nor because of the disgust he would feel stepping into the elevator…
Christian Hanz Lozada: 3 Poems
Monster’s skin is replaced / it’s not the confusing shade of brownish red that says he could be anything / but white.
Yuna Kang: 3 Poems
Fresh fallen snow: A photograph of a painting is what you / show me, it glitters strangely and is obscured / by thumbs
m. forajter: anti-greta
anti-greta stands in grim resignation. she buries her metal straw and reusable tote with her own hands, shoveling fistfuls of dirt over the metal and canvas until they have sunk back to the earth.
Natasha Wein: 3 Poems
From my belly I spit little fires— / they are sweet & hurt & dusty. / Each slippery flame is work / to keep warm.
Allison Whittenberg: 5 Poems
...God, I hate November / All the hope I had hoped / Against hope for Jordan.
Howie Good: 5 Poems
About 600 miles south of the North Pole stands the world's northernmost statue of Lenin. The face is like a mask, with a guarded but threatening expression.
Caroline Harper New: Poem & Artwork
I wrote my first will in the womb; / a firstborn falsely preceded by / three siblings.