lotophagia — RC deWinter
i’ve fallen down a rabbit hole of cognitive dissociation a carnival of synesthesia possible only in a lotus eater’s dream looking at sound hearing color touching scents tasting you if there is a… Continue reading
The Dark Moon and the Eclipses — Christopher Pieterszoon Routheut
In the invisible distance, the dark moon moves across, and occults, the summer sun. Midday’s midnight. The consecution’s confused. The century’s spectacle, barely begun, so soon has half finished fast. Here, however, resting… Continue reading
Passages: Rondeau Redouble — Charlotte Mandel
Circadian rhythm eases sleep at night. The seasons orbit to a cosmic scheme. Earth spins—a whirligig that plays with light. I wake to music, sunrise sets the theme. Dust atoms shimmer gold in… Continue reading
The falling salt of street lamps — DS Maolalai
5am. driving my wife to the airport. not talking much because it’s 5am except at one point we have some fun speculating why a man who’s walking might be walking at this time.… Continue reading
Featured Artist — Tony Belobrajdic
Click images to enlarge. *** Born in Croatia in 1958, Tony Belobrajdic is a full-time figurative artist. He started exhibiting in late seventies and had his first solo show in 1983,… Continue reading
Grand Prix — Paige Elizabeth Wajda
After Mario Kart 1: You are rocket start on a Peach Beach, bump bitches you pass by, banana slipstream, revving and swerving; mushroom drift. 2: You are cool contender, transforming into Bullet Bill, avoiding bob-omb blasts,… Continue reading
The Lake House, Later — Brenden Wysocki
A woman is dead, I know this. There is a police station, a polygraph, and a political favor to speed up the process, I know this because this is what I am told.… Continue reading
Ekphraseis — Bradley J. Fest
for Taylor Baldwin’s The Oracle [W]hen I look at that of which I may regard myself as the imaginary possessor, I fix upon what would give me pleasure in my average moments. .… Continue reading
Under the Rope Swing — Evan James Sheldon
The husband thought things were going pretty well between himself and his wife until he found the dead birds. He came home on a lunch break and while he was pulling up, a… Continue reading
Queen Conch — Amy Schmitz
I thought I was done with fish tired of the pull and scrape but if I walk through a fishery with a man who is still my husband just seven years older than… Continue reading
Inside Story Paintings — Jan Donley
“Jan Donley’s Inside Story Paintings combine her love of train riders and her love of literature. All of her art is painted and layered on an iPad screen. She uses an app called… Continue reading
A Quarter Die — Linette Marie Allen
Take 1 : Everybody loves eagles. Those roping off territories in Kafkaesque sky, those caked in nylons over kindergartens and castles and jailhouses, those choked over silverbacks. And the latter, yes, one of… Continue reading
Sinead O’Connor is Suicidal and Living in New Jersey — Christina M. Rau
A lot of people live in New Jersey, New York, the tri-State area, and many of them are fine, and by fine, I mean getting by quite all right, eating meals, working the… Continue reading
Passing Train Whistle — Joseph Somoza
While the fire is snapping and roaring, I should stay out here with the grackles who dropped in this morning to investigate the bird feeder. I should stay to watch the leaves fall… Continue reading
Ex-Tempora — Toti O’Brien
Let’s start under the tree. My braids pinned around my skull—an intimate hairdo I only sport in domestic settings. No make-up besides lipstick. I am holding my morning cup of coffee. My son… Continue reading
Lambs — Bruce Meyer
As we came up the sideroad, they could have been mistaken by morning rain for tufts of cloud left on a knoll, white as heaven, if heaven exists, standing there to practice a… Continue reading
Belonging — Laurence Klavan
ROLAND, uncouth, thirties, stands at the door. He is near MERRY, more refined, also thirties, whose place it is. ROLAND I just want you to know: I’m not the kind of man who… Continue reading
Aurora Borealis — Ginny Fite
My left hand, raised above me holding a paperback novel, is missing my wedding ring. An indentation remains, ghost-like, on my skin, a reminder of allegiance and duty. My hands swelled at eight… Continue reading
Lunchtime Fandango — Catherine Moore
She was the kind of woman who brought her lunch to work in a Victoria’s Secret bag. Its pink and white stripes perched sex next to the other refrigerator sandwiches. She was also… Continue reading