Katherine Kuhn On Pause Even still, you rise to put on the coffee, and the birds outside sound like spring. Katherine Kuhn grew up in Western New York, eventually earning a degree in Literature and Gender and Sexuality Studies at Bard College. Her biggest inspirations include Virginia Woolf, and phrases her friends said to her […]
Read MoreJ.R. Solonche Request When the man in the next room died, his daughter gave his flowers to the nurses, so Emily, listen to me, when I am the man in the next room, give my flowers to the ugliest nurse only. J.R. Solonche is the author of ten books of poetry and a frequent contributor […]
Read MoreLashelle Johnson Poplar I saw a man with my name on a map of the dead in the place my father was born. Lashelle Johnson is a Munich-born Afro-indigenous writer whose work has appeared everywhere from The Establishment to those riveting conversion emails littering your inbox.
Read MoreToby Sharpe Sentinel On his birthday, you ice a cupcake with glacial blue and eat the whole thing in one choked mouthful, then you click onto his page, and watch the wishes pour in, and imagine him at home, or at a party, or in a restaurant, with the people he loves. Toby Sharpe once […]
Read MoreToby Sharpe Hark, The Metal Serpent The smell of autumn has crept upon the suburbs: you inhale lustily as you walk towards the station, before sinking underground to be swept eleven miles south, up an escalator, and into his arms. Toby Sharpe once fell down a manhole, but don’t worry, he’s still here, clinging on. […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar Winter’s Ghost Maybe that was what I couldn’t see: a kind of transcendence long ago, two girls on a sofa, holding fire in their palms, waiting for winter’s ghost to finally arrive. Steve Klepetar once ran 70 yards for a touchdown, but there was no videotape back then and he can’t prove it.* […]
Read MoreJohn Grey A Conspiracy Theorist Sits Beside Me on the Bus Someday, maybe the FBI will watch his every movement, listen in to his every thought but, for now, the crazy guy who sits next to me on the bus will have to be content with my apathetic hearing, my incurious observations, my undisguised impatience […]
Read More3 poems for a new year Anastasia Vassos Gratitude for a Hell of a Year Thanks a lot, 2018, for the kick in the teeth for the lapse in my memory, and for the last day in the life of my mother, for the end of my consciousness as I presently know it, for the […]
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