By Steve Anc There is a voice on the hole and a voice on the hill. There is a voice on the sea and a voice on the breeze. There is a voice in the forest and a voice in the garden. There is a voice in the river and a voice in the moon.…

By ślimak vr0k [Always keep your hands and fingers flat when feeding the beasts.] the lies came easy, so we cut my nose and threw the pieces on the fire to escape the freeze we melted snow for water, but food was scarce we’d come to the woods, because we wished to live deliberately, maybe…

By ślimak vr0k [Staff only. Trespassers may be eaten.] The number 7, just 7, on the grey concrete in the sky a 7. Bow down in the stairwell we are 7. 7 kings laid out to dry. 7 hillsides falling away. 7 membranes peeled out. 7 bowls of 7th grade math. 7 gunshots fired into…

By Howie Good Around midnight I had finally given up trying to turn the stale words and phrases on the screen of my laptop into a scrap of poetry, and instead had retreated to our old green couch and started fingerpicking my way through a song that despite my questionable musicianship you would have recognized…

By Howie Good “Better call someone,” I say to my wife, who is standing beside me at the window, peering up at the sky with a worried expression. By the time the emergency vehicles start arriving, the clouds look even more like what the painter Magritte long claimed clouds look like – thoughts. Is the…

By Howie Good It was the end of the American Century, and as if at a secret signal, the streets suddenly filled up with dancing grannies. I looked into their doll-like painted faces for an explanation. What I saw instead were suicide nets, abortions by wire coat hanger, piles of broken bricks. Life in our…

By LaVern Spencer McCarthy Great Grandpa lay in his coffin, a grotesque smile on his face that the funeral workers could not remove. Little granddaughter, Suzie swore she would not bolt and run screaming when she viewed the corpse, but when he winked at her, she did.

By LaVern Spencer McCarthy At the table, a séance— Eyes are closed, hands clasp other hands. Jewels on wealthy fingers generate prisms by candlelight. The medium moans, calling Fred, lost at sea a year ago. behind her rolled-back eyes she thinks of money to be made, ignores tears of Fred’s aging wife who cannot find…

By LaVern Spencer McCarthy “Who wants to go next?” Barney asked.. “Somebody must,” replied Sylvester. “Be a volunteer,” Barney suggested. “No,” answered Sylvester. Barney frowned. “All of us must go sometime. It’s best to get it over with.” Of the ten men present, none was willing to go next. Conversation stopped when a country-yokel- type…

By Yash Seyedbagheri stir words like alphabet soup even if they get soggy poet in beret proclaims with glued smile and eyes covered in shadows jumble them around a bit more, leave enough space to breathe. and don’t create lines   of the moon, a field of flowers, packages festooned with gold bows a pink…