Category: creative writing
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Fun… by Brittney Bullock
It was for the fun of it, or so I thought. I’d do it for the fun of it, for the great surprise and greater purpose of living on an edge- the edge. I guess I’d forgotten it’d already been defined, before in some past time, and re-defined again; a proper name to call the…
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Ripping Pages Off the Calendar by Julia Alexander
It’s May, and you are asleep on my couch. I count your fingers to make sure that you are real and you are all And, you are taking up all the space that my being has ever longed to inhabit. It’s July, and we are in my swimming pool. And everyone is around. And you…
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That grows from your hands…by G. Mramor
And indifference bears its heart stone, Though a million words be spilt Love lords only the is. In time remember will divest me of this, For a voice in a box An unwanted stone sings its spring. A rose is no flower that grows from sand, And a love is not remembered When…
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Seeing all that was good in the land…by G. Mramor
Because I was there for the parting of the lakes and I saw the sun swallowed up by a whale and yet I stood transfixed as fires from sunset ran into houses dorming families thrown together in stitches from the war’s end and I watched muted as trees bludgeoned the ends of houses till they…
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More Poems by Jeffrey Park & Artwork by Ben Quinn
Jeffrey Park’s poetry has appeared most recently in UFO Gigolo, The Camel Saloon, streetcake, and the science fiction anthology Just One More Step from Horrified Press. A native of Baltimore, Jeffrey currently lives in Munich, Germany, where he works at a private secondary school. Links to all of his published work can be found at…
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“Headless” by Jim Meirose & Artwork by Sophie Filomena
Jim Meirose has work in numerous journals, including the Fiddlehead, Witness, Alaska Quarterly review, and Xavier Review, and has been nominated for several awards. Two collections of his short work have been published and his novels are available from Amazon. Headless Cool and dry smelling room next to the altar. It held statues—all kinds; big, little, and in between.…
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Foreground… by Brittney Bullock
I dreamt of our demise like clockwork, now I don’t belong to anyone anymore. They used to talk about freedoms such as this but I never understood it or even thought to ask their names; I wish I did. They told me that the day is nothing but the night in disguise rolling along and…
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He Died Alone… by Brittney Bullock
I think it must have been beautiful when you died laid up in such perfect solitude counting sheep until the cows came home, until the daylight broke, until the sheep were gone. I imagine there was nothing less than a flood of color clouding the perimeter of your face like a Byzantine idol and rushing…
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When the sky is no longer a safe place…by G. Mramor
When the sky is no longer a safe place the chest of light shall close upon widows like sodding bones wailing on the quai to explosions of feathers like the wet petals of carnations into the sound of the oily sea falling grace stones and fate for a sin you do not even know and…
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Carcinogen by L. Breen
As he watched her through the window, the man noted that she was not particularly beautiful. Yet he knew that if he could be anything in the world, he would be her cigarette. He would be her brand. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than him – his particular blends of tobacco and menthol, the…
