Literature

Joe Bishop Literature Poetry

Father’s Day

Joe Bishop   I haul on his rubber boots, pack tackle box aboard, part glinting pond on which my old man taught me how to skate. My grown hands recoil, recalling numb, small fingers tighten laces to his standard. This morning suns knuckles. I bait hook, cast lured line, scratch what will be...

Read more
Literature Poetry

Aphagia

Roxanna Bennett   My father sticks in my throat a black clot I won’t swallow     a stone swan sycamore My father is a story I am stuck in to rot a weather worn red boat on a rough river My father stones the moat w lapis lazuli drowns my medicine Buddha in red river My father is a...

Read more
Literature Poetry Rachael Jordan

Transfusion

Rachael Jordan   ­ 1. She bleeds scents and shows me with a knife. She scrapes the blade down the inside of her arm, a single red line sprouting from the touch. After a moment, burnt orange surrounds, creeps into the pores of my body. Lifting her shirt, she takes the knife and draws a...

Read more
Literature Poetry Tiana Lavrova

Geomorphological Word Salad

Tiana Lavrova   Intracortical robed gymnosperm’s with the pH balanced mereology of a lobular, meta-magical gardener snake flaring like a brazen-bull in a bleached, patternless (no arithmetic progression), Starry Night tuxedo with the fabric of a Granny Smith fruit pouring its xylem in...

Read more
Lindsay Miles Literature Poetry

Likeness

Lindsay Miles   One hundred percent recycled material. Conversations about purity. My god you are beautiful. A copy of a copy of a copy of a. Family receives a shipment of fruit and other things that have to happen now. Today is suitably warm. In the beginning there were multiple trees. It’s...

Read more

Reviews

Writers' Room

News

Latest Articles

Joe Bishop Literature Poetry

Father’s Day

Joe Bishop   I haul on his rubber boots, pack tackle box aboard, part glinting pond on which my old man taught me how to skate. My grown hands recoil, recalling numb, small fingers tighten laces to his standard. This morning suns knuckles. I bait hook, cast lured line, scratch what will be...

Read more
This site is protected by Comment SPAM Wiper.