Poetry

   SUPER-8by Timothy B. Muren   Super-8Your grave, Phil Silver, should be here,Philip’s Fill-Up—Gas and Gro.  Hilarious, bro.filled up with bones like a new Christian, like a new Big-Wheel coasting to dirt, downsteep on plastic, breaking apart against...

WINTERby Craig Kennedy Night music The gold streetlamp sheds itsbrilliant hysteriapushing sour sunshine to inifinitedistancesuncharted by the small men in the streetunappreciated by the grapefruit moon. Winter Gregorian chant, burning wood,the midnight blue riverfrozen thick and bittersweet,congealed near...

SUMMERby Sarah Snyder Summer Surrounded by low bushesand small thorny plants, I sit, still and small beside the sharp branchesunder a porch, listen for footsteps. This is a game. It could be sardines,hide & seek, capture the flag,...

BOARDERby Daisy G. Bassen   The egg is balanced on the rim of the glass bowl.It fills the space my palm is meant to hold.The energy that will become the crackingLimns the shell. The moment cracksWith...

THE CLOSED DOORby Mukund Gnanadesikan  THE CLOSED DOOR The closed door never opens Unless a hand so brave Can brave the darkness Find the knob And twist against The forces of inertia Fearful though they be And thus the dark room Stays inhabited For days Or...

MIDLIFEby Timothy Robbins Midlife You go to bed early. The typewriter(which stutters) is locked in the closetfor fear it will write somethingbeautiful. It does anyway, clatteringon its own in the arms of all those emptyshirts, between...