Laura Gregory Be Killing Sin Joshua slaughtered every captive and David severed Goliath’s head, but I wrap leftover brownies in foil and tuck them neatly into airtight tupperware to keep them fresh. Laura Gregory is pretty sure she’s not highbrow enough to write poetry, but she does it anyway.
Read MoreLaura Gregory Idolatry His name is a cherry pit under my tongue, stripped of all its flesh and polished smooth until it’s nothing but a little knot that whets my appetite for more nothing just before a feast. Laura Gregory is pretty sure she’s not highbrow enough to write poetry, but she does it anyway.
Read MoreHowie Good Things Past The crying corpse that hits the road, accompanied by the ghost of Andy Warhol, looks back once, twice, three times, sees women superimposed over the sand, ripples in the sand mimicking strands of hair, a dune tracing the curve of a hip, my entire high school sinking into the sea. Assembled […]
Read MoreDevon Balwit Hard Journey How much I both wanted the future and wanted to be rescued from having to get there by myself, stuffing down whatever was at hand, packages of meat or ice cream, then vomiting them back up, seeking to empty myself of the bolus of dread in my gut, the leaden years […]
Read MoreKay Pillai Descartes’ Sloth You think— therefore, I am spared the task. Kay Pillai lives somewhere in India every day with her pet pair of glasses and a little gratitude.
Read MoreGil Hoy Happy Birthday Song The chocolate cake was particularly good this year, and the frosting tasted of opulence and decadence, like the crisp sheen of shining dollar bills that father made— ‘though some say stole— after he was able to buy the business down the street for a song. Gil Hoy tries cases before […]
Read MoreWes Civilz Some Men Some men have better haircuts than they are. Wes Civilz often sleeps too much in Tucson, Arizona, and he likes it when you drop him a line at wescivilz.com.
Read MoreDave Read Multitudes It was less the taste of the dandelion wine and more the fear that drinking too much would flower my hair into a mop of white seeds I couldn’t contain in a wind, letting a multitude of Daves sprout throughout town with my place in the community suddenly redundant. Dave writes short […]
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