By Jewel Andersen  Oscillating between reality’s thin wires, flashes of Samhain fiending fleshed fires. Echo poised on the cliff’s edge seam, fish-mouthed and bowed in gaping scream. Or Ophelia — weed-laced and willow dazed. Nettle at wrist, daisy gaze half-raised. Foam-veiled, unmade, she mouths the flood — dream-drunk on silt and spindle-blood.

By Joseph Griffiths  I lived my life like the recluse tucked within his barky coat amid the dark boreal forest I kept still, not wishing to uproot that hidden light and dark, knowledge I only wished to see everyday, more terribly that beautiful thing that passed me he seemed moved or stuck in some otherworldly energy a love, it was obvious, that would elude my judgement. Until one day, he began hacking and I was feeling unsteady later, in the evening, snapping into my bed, cu

By Elika Khosravani On a sun-stained Sunday, I waltz this island tip-to-tip and think of everything I do not know yet. I am pulled in...

By Armando Javier Gimenez              The porch is a tether to the homeland. Flies circle the basil and ivy laid across wooden rails. A...