If you move a chair, // the Pharaoh's curse may turn out // to be a fact.
Outside, the morning sun // Is sitting in the sky // Like a cake plate crayoned
I will never forget // how quickly your scooter sped down the hill
By Anya Reeve
The smoke tasted on my tongue that morning, mingled with fresh bite of air. Once on my tongue, the sapidity of ashing wood exhaled from my breath and nostrils. Clear, oh so clear.
By Matt Gulley
a quick search, a type and tap // or a phone-sought friend, at longest last
Tears roll down his cheeks, as Ray stares at the uneaten cheeseburger, cold and congealing on his plate
By Cecil Morris
The embryo that bloomed ectopic in the wife // who left me would be 45 this year and lives // in the cryogenic regions of my brain