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- X23Eping on Hangin’ Out at the Git and Go, poetry by Jason Ryberg
- John A Jancewicz on The Hills are Alive, essay by Anna Lea Jancewicz
- JBird on Tin Pedals, fiction by Lucas Flatt
- Jim J Wilsky on Everything is Relative, fiction by Michael Bracken
- LINDA MCQUARRIE-BOWERMAN on Two Poems, by Matthew Borczon
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Two Poems by Nathan Graziano
Relative to Guns 'N' Roses In a box in the basement, strewn with cobwebs, I find a photo album and the ratty blond wig I wore one Halloween in college when I dressed as my alter ego, the front man of a … Continue reading
Hounds, poem by Jessica Wiseman Lawrence
Hounds Hound dogs run off. It’s a scientific fact that they can physically close their ears to the humans who love them and shout “Come back here!” as the dogs go chasing something small and quick and run a trail. They get lost. They … Continue reading
Five Poems by Richard L. Gegick
THE OCEAN Tony’s been a cook here ever since he was placed in the renewal center over a decade ago. Twice a GED failure, he can barely read, but knows how to cook a steak, how to work hard, show up on time. His … Continue reading
The Mad Farmer's Wife Delivers the Foal, poem by Rita Quillen
It is the turning I most remember: Just another ordinary day I woke and looked out the window. The mare stood with the colt half out of her, Membrane still completely intact. I ran like a warrior, butcher knife in hand Stabbed into … Continue reading
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Two Poems by Tiff Holland
Saltines We was all afraid of that bridge, just ropes and slats, spaces between where the crick came right up at you if you looked down at it, and Billy, that’s what we called him, after the fairy-tale, squattin’ underneath. I … Continue reading
Transformer, fiction by Benjamin Soileau
I’m fiddling with one of those transforming monstrosities that toy companies make just to drive men like me crazy. It’s some kind of dinosaur that turns into a speedboat and I’m looking down at it, turning it this way and … Continue reading
Triadelphia, WV, poem by Jay Sizemore
The hotel room seems damp— cold as the West Virginia sky, a certain kind of humidity left behind in the empty space that light can never fill and that only the nostrils can interpret as moisture in the atmosphere of green carpet and comforters. … Continue reading
Roulette, poem by M.S. Lyle
You move around the house, a cord attached to that spot on your back that no matter how hard you try to reach, you cannot reach. At the other end, the chamber. And you are so small; you heard the doctor say … Continue reading
