by Ella Rous | Sep 25, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
Seagulls prefer to nest by open water, but they’ll make doif they must. This bathroom, sinking into the foundation aslittle green plants force their way through the grout, will do.It will do, even once we’ve outgrown & left it, the shivering husksof our shadows...
by Marcella Eve | Sep 25, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
at dawn, a womandrags herself through cobbled alleyswailing, and then beginsover a plate of dry eggsto speak and from the doorway of a key shop, a manwith no teeth yells at a plazaof tables and chairs, and smokes so mucha rain-cloud forms over Los Angeles and the...
by Daniel Clark | Sep 25, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
This is how… We read the signs. We readthe gaps around the signsthat said STOP. We filled in forgiveness. We sawourselves inside the bottle. We splashedwater on our faces but the water was wineand our faces grapescrushed into bottlesin crates in lorriesin toddlers’...
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 Gia Kelliher | Sep 25, 2022 | Issue #5, Poetry
0b1. hey, I know you! you lolling Jell-o eyes, your eyelids are heavy you spit a billion more phrases, you’re summoning mandelbrot, your shed is a rube machine, it whirrs and molts, you don’t sleep through the...
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...
