by Cole Henry Forster | Sep 25, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
I’m listening to Gerry Raffertyand I’m thinking to myself,who the fuck is Gerry Rafferty,and what the fuck is “Right Down the Line?”’Cause I can’t tell who’s sore,and there’s no rippin’ off the bandaidwith the first big scene,you gotta drag it out...
by C.E. Brady | Sep 25, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
Yeah, put the leftovers in one of the jars on the second shelf;no, I know there’s a lid that fits, I promiseI’m working on a new organization system for the pile up there,what a mess! I need to learn how to let goof every exponential almond butter jar I am compelled...
by Jason Melvin | Sep 25, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
the wind from the oceanmakes the balcony lawn chairsdanceI lounge on a couchas gray daylight stretchesthrough the sliding glass door I want to sitout therehear the surftaste the windbut I can’t writein the rain the balcony parapetis four feet highfrom my seatit’s only...
by Keagan Wheat | Sep 25, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
Logan unpacks needles, swabs, syringe, bandaidI settle my knee against his thighAs we sit on his Star Wars comforter.He plays Elton John, tiny speakerscompleting ritual._______Alone, I track 26 minute walkwith sagging backpackHawthorne, Montrose,Westheimer....
by Stan Galloway | Sep 23, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
Your names toll in my dreams. “26,” – Rachel Eliza Griffiths I do not know your names your faces.The...
