Dec 11, 2015
by Brian Fanelli
In our house, nobody ever danced, / even though my father played Elvis / or Johnny Cash from the silver / CD player that rested on the nook
Dec 9, 2015
by Kristene Brown
Hot summer and birds pillage garbage cans, / squabbling for scraps. / With ripped jeans and knotted hair, I follow / the unpaved road to town.
Nov 24, 2015
by Robert S. King
My socks are small trash bags, / and the street number of my house is zero. / Garbage cans are my walls on winter nights.
Nov 3, 2015
by Simon Perchik
These sheep have no choice either / though even in summer / they still want to hear the truth
Sep 25, 2015
by David Tucker
No one understands the traffic jams in this city, / how they just spring from the ground like this / and why, when you reach the head of the line, there is / no accident
Sep 8, 2015
by Andrea Witzke Slot
The odor of stale hotdogs coils / around this truck stop of quiet men / who sit with faces bowed, bath kits / in laps, fair-like tickets in hand.
Aug 13, 2015
by Rustin Larson
Prism vase, asters blue as glacier ice, / baskets of strawberries, croissants, / goblets lit with orange juice, / & the cathedral distant, the boat house / flying its flag in an international zone
Jul 27, 2015
by Joseph Gross
Then there he is again— / the Suit of Lights, all / epaulets and reluctant pink and gold, / back in the ring.
May 21, 2015
by David Salner
The chrome-colored clouds / pushed the heat down, held in the car fumes, / the smell of the asphalt. Out on the patio, / I was ready for work
May 10, 2015
by Lauren Yates
There is something about traveling home that stops the blood. / My womb becomes a howling dog warning me of danger.