If I had Guilt

by Allison Collins If I had guilt I would unzip the suit of my skin, undo the hooks, the eyes, cull out the soft matter, dismantle the bones and soak those relics in a bath of bleach, clattering and sudsy. And, like a toddler heavy with building blocks or a clumsy surgeon in that game,


by Lawrence Ernest Bridges I settle in my chair slowly, locks clicking to the infinite and everything’s right with the world. My shadow-body is carefree, pulsing out of me with my living body’s outline, in waves. The little I’ve done doesn’t worry me, yet done a little still and morning isn’t here yet. I raged

Remington Portable

by Bruce Parker Years ago while I was in boot camp, my mom hocked my typewriter to buy vodka. I saw it again in the Taos home of D. H. Lawrence, quiet, on a little desk in a corner, the shock— That’s my typewriter and awe of the famous writer using “my” machine. More years


by J.B. Kalf I exit the shower still wet. I brush my teeth. I comb my chest. I roll the deodorant between the stretchmarks. I stare into the mirror. I allow myself to dance. I dead drop on a sliver of soap. And I live inside this graceful slip. I take a picture to last

in defense of the word “fuck”

by Liam Strong in elementary i couldn’t contain my cursive between dotted lines, the blue-white high- way strung with prayer beads. like my legs informing that  yes i know what it means to curl my tongue     yes      i know the hand bears its own dialect                       yes      i know how the abdomen of a

Come On Now

by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright Evening stoops under its sodden shawl. A siren broods; its caterwaul snarling over blackened roofs. Someone’s on the run. Wet tires whisper to Avenue C. “I’m lost without you,” they swear. I wanted to be a matador in Manhattan, dancing with horns. I wanted to be a genie smoking in your

Title in Search of a Better Life

by Sarah Sarai “Pantyliner Notes.” It’s yours, my hands are washed for at least twenty seconds. “Girl with a Pearl Jam Earring.” “Tess of the Rosenthals.” Confidence lost in bluster is gained by belief in cohesion. Sense is altogether different and who cares not me. “Dombey and Son from Another Mother.” “A Midsummer Night’s Cream.”