If I could feel sorrow // for a thing entire of itself, // it would be St. Helena Island.
Improvisations - little more than // preludes as inclined by other options // and expression as to what will happen
By Jessie Brown
Mossed path through rhododendrons tall as trees // and here come the hens, burnished legs slow-stepping // eight, nine, ten copper bodies like Aladdin’s lamps
By Mingran Cao
Step one: Disable Lunar Rhythms using Greenwich Mean Timestamps
By Zack Carson
The interior of electricity: // held stable in its grip, made pure at long // last. This is where man should surrender, // inside arc flash.
By Cecil Morris
My wife has given me a new drill, // a DeWalt 20 volt battery- // powered model with joyous yellow // highlights, the color of doing.
Mollie lays the eggs; the male // brings food for weeks. // In a month, the first tiny beak // pecks out of its confinement.
Not content to build up life in piles // They came here to hack limestone
By Barry Fields
Lyra met Eric at La Patisserie, her favorite café but one they hadn’t been to as a couple. The owners, whom you could hear speaking French to each other, had modeled it on a Paris bistro, with pale yellow walls and large format black and white photographs of a dozen of the city’s famous monuments. On the wall, the Arc of Triumph towered over them.
By Kat Hausler
“Can she do that?” Pauli asked after ordering another round of drinks Viktor hoped would be their last.