By Ari King Moment Your Siamese twin, nine minutes dead Is slunked to the side of the hospital bed. What do you think now? What enters...

By Elia Zhang.

By Kelsey Kitzke I think of constellations as metrics of human nihilism: Our need to find patterns where there aren’t any, To create...

Robo-poetry reveals the shortcomings of AI—and our need for human M4M submissions.

I always had a weakness for the Beauty.

By Skylar Wu

By Noa Fay. In a land Overmorrow A golden beam shines Beside, A rainbow– With misted, Colored lines. But such a Land Is not ours– We bear...

By Annelie Hyatt I touch the wrinkles on your hand. I touch body & blister on your knees. This rumination, this elegy, is a wildflower...

The worst part of the chippy meal, but my dad loved them.

A collection of short works of poetry.

After Elizabeth Bishop.

By Morgan Levine On the train thinking of 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17 1 a certain genre: stories by and about passengers of...

By Benjamine Mo In this sermon, everything is but its ending. And this ends with me as it did with you just weeks ago, when I saw you off...

By Sylvie Epstein The towns of the Eastern Seaboard like to call my name. and gray plush on the passenger’s seat flashes with the passing...

By Samia Menon I can only describe things that are real: sharp air that tastes like the color of hospital lights, yellow summers that...

By Adam Glusker a cockroach emerges from a pile of golden-leaf glitter. he wonders if the shiny things he emerged from correspond to what...

By Samia Menon The moment was still – and I was in a wrinkle of Rockefeller Plaza and Kate had blinked away as the sun does on beautiful...

By Jacob Snyder Required Texts: • Paul Henri, A Summary of Ethnic Conflict in Eastern Iran (1983) • Nicole Brown Simpson, The...

By Benjamine Mo I. It is bone and wanting bone. It is the sight of an apricot tree in winter. Auntie explains the numbness of her leg...

from nancy’s charcoaled hands look – you can see from the street below. we have her rusted poppies on our wall in their olive stems i see...