VANESSA SAUNDERS YOU CAME ALL OVER the fiction. But this body is a museum of decay. He showed the cartographer his sarcophagus, which lay beneath the denim shorts he never took off. If he is in trouble, he will call. You are so American, she said. Which is to say. I no longer believe in … Continue reading YOU CAME ALL OVER


FELICIA ZAMORA A shadow rattles inside this suit of cells, in wait for headlights on the horizon. You pray the driver knows you, knows you lay in the center of concrete, a piece of a center line only existing outside double yellows & laws matching intention. ^^^^ Face of slivered moon questions you; glow penetrates … Continue reading PRAYER TO THE CHARCOAL DUST

Sudbury Community Garden

Rage Hezekiah Sunflowers slump like drunks outside the bar, thick stalks necrotic— stripped of seeds by unfed starlings, dark birds pillaging the beds. Butternut squash hulls litter snowless soil, russet tomato skins stick to wet ground beside faded seed markers submerged in earth. February shouldn’t warm the loam, but I walk the farm with bare … Continue reading Sudbury Community Garden


Brian Woerner My father is an echo I can neither write nor run from: bald coin in my palm, or I swim in the grooved pool of his hands. Patron saint of batting practice, paint your shaving cream self-portrait in the clouded bathroom mirror. Stay with me. Don’t come any nearer. from Issue 31.1 BRIAN … Continue reading Icon


Michela L. Garabedian In San Joaquin Valley all the pretty girls wear yellow dresses. They wear yellow and pick chilies until their hands stain red. In San Joaquin Valley it never rains, though pretty girls would look awfully pretty in yellow dresses in the rain. In the backyard in my underwear and black training bra … Continue reading Fresno


S. Brook Corfman Do you know what it is to absence? How the moon curls away from itself into the blanket of sky? Look in turn at each exile, how each alone returns to the house, if each returns. The calendar's pages fall all out of order and even the fruit supports the war. Israel … Continue reading PARTICIPATION


S. Brook Corfman O bright box, ripping, M. Moore wrote red flowers will not make red wine but I tried anyway, pressed them and ate them with eggs for breakfast. Counterintuitively, particularly bright colors often last longer than "regular" colors when left in the sun; it is not about intensity—there is less fading because the … Continue reading PROSOPOPOEIAN


Michael Torres Love needs a chaperone. Alone now, the pachuco’s grandson holds the CD, and waits for the sky to tell him what to do. God knows how to make a sign out of anything: a song played for the fifth time that day; petals you pluck from a flowerhead. Yesterday, his homie said, Diana … Continue reading THE PACHUCO’S GRANDSON CONSIDERS THE SILVERSUN PICKUPS’ ALBUM DIANA LENT HIM SEVEN YEARS AGO