concealed by soil a seed uncurls her name

          —Kat Lehmann

                              cloudburst
                              the interruption
                              of em dashes

                                        —Kat Lehmann

   

                                                                   Birds: define, then scatter. Then repeat.

                                                                             —Josh Massey

                                                                   Artists—avoid cars and other vehicles!
                                                                   Spinning wheels are not your friends!

                                                                             —Josh Massey

   

                              New Life Omen

                              A charcoal taste.
                              The flight of ghosts.

                                        —Briar Ripley Page

Flight Omen

Three severed bird wings dance across the asphalt, trailing red strings.

          —Briar Ripley Page

   

                              seedless rain the morgue in me

                                        —Lithica Ann

   

                                                                      Pirates, hunting rock
                                                                      crystals in a bowl of sea, kiss
                                                                      the voyages still.

                                                                                —Prosper Ìféányí

   

the cicada caught in the spider web

no longer has robin’s egg blue wings.

          —Linda M. Crate

   

                              dusk downpour
                              frozen by lightning
                              hummingbird

                                        —Robbie Gamble

   

                                                                      infinite smallness
                                                                      when he asks me to look for
                                                                      bacchus on the moon

                                                                                —Valerie Wong

   

                              half of me erased the sky inherited by crows

                                        —rs

                              the glide of the scalpel down the belly of the cloud

                                        —rs

                              mudlark the blue-green shift of eyes

                                        —rs

   

Beach day

gull screams scrape the blue
crabs sand scrabbling like dogs
dead jelly dries up

          —Adrienne Pilon

   

                              calving glacier another cycle of boom and bust

                                        —Debbie Strange

   

—L. M. Cole

   

                                                                      Deficit

                                                                      Unmoored in my thoughts,
                                                                      Narrow blue pill my lighthouse.
                                                                      Whatever works, right?

                                                                                —Emily Neuharth

                              “Are you sitting down?”

                              My ex came back
                              Into my life today but
                              He’s gone forever

                                        —Emily Neuharth

   

papier-mâché
how do I hold myself?

          —Aishwarya Vedula

                                                                      widening my view sea salt rose

                                                                                —Aishwarya Vedula

   

                              the dog on the bench keeps barking

                              & the man sitting with him keeps repeating

                              I don’t’ know what to say — I love you man

                                        —Mikey Swanberg

   

                                                                      rippled wake—
                                                                      as long as it takes

                                                                                —Shloka Shankar

                              raindrops sliding down glass :: the blue-grey light of living

                                        —Shloka Shankar

—Shloka Shankar

   

My Fourteenth Great-Grandfather was a Conquistador

Aren’t we tired of this story? The dead behind us, the dead between us.
The dead on their way from tomorrow’s rounds.

   

Like the motmot bird, without a second thought, I sup on poisonous things.
Make nutrients of the fatal face in mine, minerals of slime.

          —heidi andrea restrepo rhodes

   

—rs and Shloka Shankar

   

BIOS
INDEX