theMystery.doc By Matthew McIntosh I arrived home on a normal August night to a compact yet 4 lb. package sitting outside my bedroom...

5B By Ned Russin Nick and I had just nished having lunch. We didn’t hang out too much anymore. Basic kind of adult shit, not malicious in...

Le Fleuve de Héraclite By Ned Russin C’est le mien, c’est le mien, c’est le mien Un fleuve coulera en temps Héraclite était un homme ...

By Juliet Brooks She went to the gym every night, buying bruises So that she could watch some part of herself heal. In the evenings the...

Images Laetitia Duler what stuns you what tears into you these images that make your eyes bleed i can’t imagine going through without...

At What Point Does The House Become The Museum? Eleonor Botoman The unnecessary way Back home, pearled and humid nights On the longshore...

Heart impale the glistening sharpened nail to hole and wriggle deep and plunder all. And plunge each beat a sour sweet tangerine leaks...

The Chain of Day and Night God has ignited the fire showing him nothing – in every direction around him is space and only space in...

The Chain of Day and Night God has ignited the fire showing him nothing – in every direction around him is space and only space in his...

Lithosphere Maybe the problem is scale. I can’t manufacture age or enormity; they aren’t in me. I can read, but barely. Modes of...

Lithosphere Maybe the problem is scale. I can’t manufacture age or enormity; they aren’t in me. I can read, but barely. Modes of...

Empedocles Fragment Here’s old destiny’s deal, the god’s decree, a pregnant promise and a proper oath: if ever a perennial, imperishable...

Refrain By Liv Lansdale I named my last daughter Echo because in the doctor’s room my hands were placed over my stomach and in the...

Turn Now to the Sister By Serena Solin Turn now to the sister who follows the tritones of a train palming through Hokkaido. Loose her...

Airport in Early Morning by Bhajan in Bageshri I have ovaries for heads; I am of two minds. I am leaving the children in a burning bus....

By Hannah Gorman I. Revolution I begin to escape it— The turn of time no, But the compulsive counting of spokes January, February, March...

Morning By Friedrich Hölderlin, Translated from the German by Torsten Odland Dew glints in the grass, as the waking source begins to...