My Broken Brain, by Angie Ellis
Five Short Poems, by Simon Perchik
by Simon Perchik
Though it’s familiar this flower / doesn’t recognize the breeze / wriggling out the ground / as that distance without any footsteps
by Bradley Potts
“There is a 2.43% probability of survival. How would you like to proceed, Jay?” Blue Jay, flutter and fly, away from the crows. That gloating, hateful blue engulfs my tiny window.
by Lee Martin
A porch swing sways, and the chains in the eyehooks screwed into the rafters let out their lazy creaks as if this is a day of rest for them, too. Or nearly so.
by Suzanne Conboy-Hill
Things began disappearing round about March. Just little things—a newspaper left on a bench, or a sandwich wrapper—and not blown away or tumbled into a corner, just gone.
by Brian Glaser
The flowers are everywhere, pungent and bright. / It could be autumn, eighteen-fifty-seven.
by David Buchanan
It got to the point that I just didn’t want the other guys to even see her. Sharing—a tent, a cockpit, a shower—gets old during a deployment, and I wished she would stay away.
by Jodi Barnes
Often she dreams she doesn’t get into her dead boyfriend’s car. She dances solo in her stupor and calls her mother who’d promised, “I’ll pick you up; no questions asked.”
by Donna Miscolta
The windows are open to the blue-black sky, but there is no breeze to move the heavy air inside the apartment. Across the street, the diner blinks its electric blue sign.
by Cathy Herbert
The day he went into the hospital that last time, he told me he was not at all afraid of death. He did not believe in God.