Zero Readers

Category: Issues


Camille Lewis Heartstring (Merriam Webster)noun nheart· string | \ ˈhärt-ˌstriŋ \ Definition of heartstring1: obsolete: a nerve once believed to sustain the heart2: the deepest emotions or affections —usually used in plural That movie really pulls at your heartstrings. If your heartstring isyour string heart, thenpleasedon’tpull.Pluck it with the lightest touch.A priceless harp.Play only one […]

Near Naked Now

Madeleine Tomasoa CW: violent imagery i am hunched over ugly like an animal screaming without a sound a cockroach scurried away from me and threw up onto the ground he woke up one day and crashed into earth i want to see fat peel away and i admire how the flesh tries to glue itself […]

A hankering for the truth

Colin James Amid parallel running tracksin the north of England,we workers saw their endingas appurtenances in railway yards.I asked the most forthright,was this a truth then?His answer “I don’t know, Mate.”And I loved him for it. Colin James has a couple of chapbooks of poetry published: Dreams Of The Really Annoying from Writing Knights Press […]

contemplation on things that won’t stay still

Makenna Dykstra ///there’s a toilet in the park bathroomthat won’t stop flushing. before the water has a chance to resolve itselfinto a mirror, centripetal force interrupts. humankind’s eternalsearch for vanity is undermined only by life’s yet stronger impositionof humility. sewer pipes ferry piss and shit to their damnation,all the meanwhile saving the bearer the dignity […]

Poppy Cult

Damien Posterino I hold a catastrophe in my hands.I make a tight cup to stop it struggling out.It builds panic for an army marching,frightened boys fake bravery,their tears parachuting to death.Missiles of burning birthday balloonscelebrate this cult of our making,rivers of blood parading royal pageantswaving their hands to servants dismissed.Crowds on the banks are having […]


Megan Nichols Your faceis the last match in the book guiding methroughthe wreckage lighting the candlesthat encircle us so that I may see how bestto reassembleour home. Megan Nichols writes copy and takes product photographs for businesses local to her. She lives in Arkansas with her son.

In the Lens

Daniel J. Flosi i.           Sea winds foam sea hymns           we disappear                      like the robin                                  d i f f u s e                                  into fall ii.           Hiding           in my god                    complex                    a geometry                              of vantage points                    desperately                    wiping                              the lens                    to find                               myself           In other people’s                    faces iii.           The plum           fallen           in ash           milky-eyed           child           smashed […]

Sunday School

Megan Nichols Praying at the altar of mowed lawnsand bursting hydrangeas, worshippingthe rumble of engines turning over, alongthe narrow row of our dead end street,I drink coffee in the matriarch neighbor’s driveway,her dogs let out like dandelion seeds. My son will be late to learn his hymnsbut early to learn about wheelbarrow rustand WD-40. What […]


Daniel J. Flosi you   wake   themorning     findits     seeds     inyour         palm now   you  mustscrape  the  dustfrom  rivers   ofsinewcrowned     likemaples       heldfast to the   sky                  still its            seedsremain  out  ofreachyou      scratchpockets  of  fatlined         goldcorvid       beakfinger   surgingrasping        onmusclemarked    withsalmon     scale stillthe    gift      is      untouchedso  you keep itclench     yourfist around theworm    tryingto   keep       it                 still Daniel J Flosi is an apparition living in a half acre coffin within the township of Rock Island, IL between the V of the Mississippi and Rock Rivers. 

Sister Mary Frances

Megan Riggle                                   with her wry grin—a smile that curled the lips even as the rest of her face resisted. She taught us Joan of Arc and that animals have no soul –which you outright rejectedand were sent home. That summer we held a mass burialfor a litter of kittens – ten in all –after they […]