I took a January test today – she’s twenty-four in seven months. For another country, on Friday, it’s the year of the horse. I wait for the train home with a blank screen used to predict arrivals on my left. It was zero in Chicago when I woke & where we are thirty-nine. It isn’t thirty-nine now. I’m halfway to twenty-seven this Valentine’s Day. The train lets me off at the convention center then I walk north. It’s 2014. I couldn’t be more or less West Germanic.
Valium From Mandy
I can be reached from the fist underneath my
» Continue reading Five Pieces by Parker Tettleton…
Listen to a reading of “Alaska” by Michael K. Meyers.
I said, Mom, when you were alive, and not wacko, remember that time Cynthia and I believed…what was it you told us—earnest like a commodity trader—that we actually believed? That thing. I forget. I recall it was “a something big” that you were passionate about, and passed that on. (The important thing to remember is not the specifics but the results, as you would say.) Most of those in our circle resisted the plain truth of that thing that both Cynthia and I forget, and because of the
» Continue reading Three Short-Shorts by Michael K. Meyers…
This story is a “cut-up” form: three pages, one from each of three books—Denis Johnson’s Jesus’ Son, J.D. Salinger’s Nine Stories, and Richard Ford’s The Sportswriter—were cut up into fragments and rearranged to inspire a story.
“Move over,” Tom said stuffing himself in the backseat of the Lincoln like children in a bathtub during a tornado. I said, looking in, “He just wants a ride home.” I closed the door behind him. But we weren’t going to take him home. Tom sat up then and said to me out the open window: “We are stuffed men.” Behind him
» Continue reading Richard’s Lincoln by Christopher X. Shade…
Read “Variations on Ophelia” by Alexa Derman [PDF]
About the author:
Alexa Derman is a high school senior from New Jersey where she lives with her blue typewriter, Quinn. Her work is featured in Hanging Loose, Winter Tangerine Review, The Adroit Journal, and elsewhere. In her other incarnations, she paints faces and attempts to survive AP Physics.
1. Yesterday, I drove under an exit ramp and past a boy who might have been a hunchback. He curled around the edges like leaves, like paper before it burns. We were moving in the same direction but I left him and his deliberateness pass.
2. I knew a woman once, in a wheelchair, who smoked four packs of American Spirits a day. She said it made her seem less separate. We would loiter on the sidewalk during lunch breaks, she smoking and I watching the ashy embers fall.
3. Once, a woman on crutches fell, knees and
» Continue reading Two Prose Poems by Reem Abu-Baker…
Hummel #1963: Sylvia Plath Hummel Height: 3.1”
Her goldilocks slither like a silk scarf around her lithe neck. She kneels, tightbodiced navy and white polka-dot dress. Her lunar hands, are poised over a bright red Olivetti, as if seeking or as if about to write the next poem, chapter, everything slack.
Hummel #45: The Confidence Artist Height: 2.36”
Underestimate her cumulous bangs a la Madonna of Perpetuate Material Peter Pan, and you’ll miss her stinger, tucked beneath her flounce. Her eyes are lined brilliant violet, but she is anything but open. She wears a simple bias cut, and carries
» Continue reading Hummels by Lily Hoang and Carmen Gimenez Smith…
Listen to a reading of “I’ll join you in the graveyard, if I can do my banking there” by TJ Lyons.
The future isn’t cancelled, right? Long as I keep dipping my face I know that there is purpose. Living like a light bulb at the mercy of a twist. Let’s tattoo ourselves with a tree branch till we are murals of leaves injected with bark and mystery. Living like a bug under a pivoting boot. Deposit some bones if you want, for safekeeping. Call it a long-term investment, long-term digestion. As long as you agree, I’ll keep folding these
» Continue reading I’ll join you in the graveyard, if I can do my banking there by TJ Lyons…
Read “Marriage: A Math Lesson Plan” by Caitlin M. Smith [PDF]
About the author:
Caitlin M. Smith is a twenty-six-year-old living in Boston with a degree in both math and creative writing. This story is her most successful attempt to merge the two fields, as well as her first published piece. Caitlin works in publishing where she is known for bringing in pies on March 14th.
The Needle Vibrates
The needle vibrates on some kind of spinning material. The air is cut by sound, shot through a tube, and tenderly transfixed to wax. The violence is minimal, or at least microscopic – a tiny needle gouges a revolving surface that has space for a certain amount of grooves.
How was it so simple to record a sound? The machine simply captured what was already in the air. Vibrations. Yet we confuse like with like, vibrations with feelings, wax with plastic. A surface soft enough to be carved, allowing for a notch that holds the vibration in
» Continue reading Recorded Music by Andy Peyrie…
SWEET HAIRCUTS RULE
I fixate on the small-perfect hairs aligned on your scalp and finger bang myself to sleep. In my head I haze you as part of your initiation to be in my body. There’s a puddle of ceiling that seeps through a mattress & leaks into a possibility & thank God we’re still young. My hands arch intensely to a composition of my functioning body and an ex’s mixed cd.
WE WOKE UP LEAN
I smoke gently on your chest. We were careful not to wake the kids & goodbye with a handshake & my skeleton is trapped
» Continue reading Three Prose-Poems by Amanda Deo…