Trish Saunders Dallas Instructions Mrs. Kennedy will wear her pink suit today with white gloves to protect her hands from the roses. Trish Saunders lives in Seattle and Honolulu and, in her imagination, Paris during the 1940s.
Read MoreHowie Good After the Frost Then like that it’s spring a young driver nervously steering a green minivan down our street & smack into a tree. Howie Good continues to confuse ordinary posts on Facebook with Onion articles, and vice versa.
Read MoreSreedhar Vinnakota We Men We grappled, bit by bit unravelling the universe with Einstein’s relativity and Planck’s quantum to understand aging twins, shrinking rods, slowing clocks, atoms floating, and pixellated light, all the while feeling smug and smart that we could control the universe and dictate its future until we heard the shots that splattered […]
Read MoreRobert Esposito The Lavender Scare I imagine it: miasmic flowers bursting from the steelwork of skyscrapers, for I had not learned of this era in school. Robert Esposito currently reads prose for The Blueshift Journal and is generally afraid of the past.
Read MoreJohn Grey Small Town USA Old Farmer Bones rotates his crops, plows old corn into the ground to make way for a fall barley harvest while, at the parade site, cops hustle some kids smoking cigarettes out from behind the VIP stand. John Grey is an Australian born poet and short story writer who is […]
Read MoreJohn Grey Roadkill USA It’s such a relief that my guts are not scattered all over the road, and that I never have to know the embarrassment of being nothing more than what people see me as. John Grey is an Australian born poet and short story writer who is resident in Rhode Island […]
Read MoreBrad Rose For Rent: One Bedroom House Sheets stripped to bone-bare bed, your closet, empty as a mineshaft, I trace the invisible circumference of your leaving, as the house falls dream-dead quiet, and the basement digs itself ever deeper into the earth’s dark stone. Brad Rose frequently contributes to Right Hand Pointing and One Sentence Poems. His blog […]
Read MoreAndrew Watterson I wish my shoulders would fit through that window. He sits day in, day out, Andrew Watterson, flipping yellowed pages and tapping keys, sleeping occasionally and drinking coffee.
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