Comics & Art

Coco Spencer

art White Women Play Me on TV and more

Jillian Ross

art Women in Horror
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Pete Toms

comics - I'm on My Way to My Doppleganger's Birthday Party
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Joshua Dixon

art - My Experience 

Carolyn Byrne

The Half Life of
Quentin Hayes

The Bomb was fat and disappointing—a bomb like other bombs, only more of what it was. It was sequence, geometry, like paper creased into a plane or a child’s fortune teller. Cootie catchers. That’s what they had called them in school, doom-saying from their sticky desks.


Megan Martin

7 Stories

Walk past baby grave, baby grave, baby grave: so many rows of brand new skeletons, fresh like vegetables in the ground.

            I try not to step on their faces.  On their tiny plastic caskets of despair


Kim d. hunter

2 Stories

Once there was man who did very little besides go to work, blame others for the world’s problems and inhale the images and sounds that were transmitted to the implants in his brain. 


Emily Abendroth

Excerpt from:  It Looked Like What You Needed and Then It Needled You 

Sousveillance Pageant has one older brother who is in lock-up and one ex-lover who is there. Within any single given year, the Pageant also has anywhere in the whereabouts of three to four companions who rotate in and out of an assortment of state-enforced and gated walls.

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Harris Lahti

You're a Legend!

Last minute order comes in and you rip the ticket, hold it an inch before your face. Squint one eye. You’re near-sighted. Myopic. Also, pre-diabetic, wet-brained, irritably bowelled. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

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Kate Petersen

Horses Under the Bridge

Horses under the bridge, my father would say to me. Knowing it wasn’t what people said. He meant, let it go. He meant forget about it. Where it equals one of four hundred things I refuse to forget.

Natalie Rogers

Novel Excerpt: Queen Fatty

After school, Fatty tied her siblings to the dining table at home, then headed across the courtyard to her friend Mui Mui’s building.


The Disabled & Deaf Uprising

article - Report from the Field: Behind the Scenes at AWP with members of The Disabled & Deaf Uprising

This Report from the Field is a post by a collective of anonymous writers regarding the developing controversy concerning noted literary convention AWP.


Joshua Dixon

interview - Artist Interiew

I used art but mostly Photoshop, to save my life to help me express my pain to the world and heal scars in my soul that was making me weak. I started to see how art can help me through my PTSD, social anxiety, depression and how it can help to heal others that feel the same way.

Sean Singer

essay - Free Jazz: Where Jazz Meets Poetry, Outside the Poem

What if we came around to thinking about free-form jazz the way we think about a poem? Poems are not puzzles or codes; they are a human voice speaking through intelligence into language. Likewise, jazz, paraphrasing Duke Ellington, is about choosing to be joyful in spite of conditions.


Casey Clague

essay - The Dharma and the Pen: On Meditation and Poetry

Though “inspiration” and “spirituality” share a root word—spirare (Latin: to breathe)—the connection of poetry to meditation practice is not simply an etymological one. We might never know if John Keats was a meditator, but his conception of negative capability is a Western analogue

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Pianoworks (Disc 1)

Pianoworks is Eluvium’s first solo piano album since his sophomore album, An Accidental Memory In The Case Of Death (2004). Inspired by the quiet thoughts and solitary observations of children – and the evolution/dissolution of that ephemeral, uncorrupted wonder of simple joy....

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"The South has a reputation for being somewhere cool queer folks move out of to make their art and be themselves. We at WUSSY know that’s not always the case.


There’s a whole contingency of punk rock southern queerdos who parade in front of conservatives every day. One of the louder voices for these queers comes from the band GRLwood."


Wax Fang

Victory Laps and "Glass Island"(featuring Lacey Guthrie of Twin Limb)

Victory Laps, the follow-up to 2014’s dark concept record, The Astronaut, is a dense, song-focused record that maintains Wax Fang’s standard theatrical feel, while leaning into some experimental, electronic-type production ideas. 

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Heather Madden

From What Breaks Becomes the Binding Agent 

Together we study what’s broken.

Water drips from the insulation surrounding the copper pipe.

This is not condensation, I say, pressing the foam

and a hot stream spills to the floor.

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Bailey Schaumburg

3 Poems

the bridge. fecal matter. the blinds.

the stove. the flower. the shrub.

            the dynamo, silk-laden hand of your brain, doling punishment

for the way

you do your day.


Abraham Smith

Rabbit Sing Us In

vermillion hats marooned

upon sentimental nails

scabbed some with seafoam


slouching loom scabbed some

bubblegum moon

machine turn the honk    


David Harrity

3 Poems

That lorikeet is ovulating—you shouldn't touch her. 


But what if she comes to me? Sips honey from my paper cup?  

What if she desires touch, nearing without request or enticement?      

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Lauren Hunter

from The Talents

on tuesday i wake up early and draw the four of coins. i'm uncertain and unconvinced—i couldn't be enough. grasp at someone else's thoughts or art to express my deepest; want to show up but not as myself, you know. having a handful, taking a few. i'm not alone, i'm not lonely but still i fear it.

Dulce Maria Loynaz

Three poems from Beastiarium

Musca domestica



Flies, black stitches

that sew one day to another...

Flies lodged in the great big cake

of fifteen little candles…

                        Flies. Sun.

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Colby Gates

3 Poems

I tell him about the swans that have appeared at the lake—

stretch of neck, sound of flight.


He says: they are not swans. They are geese.



Alexis Pope

3 Poems

Your virginity can grow back

A loose fact

Floats from the screen to the girls

Watching this holy regeneration


This is our chance for redemption

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Callie Garnett

3 Poems

I’ve been having trouble

Holding my phone

It hurts


Heat is good

That’s why the gun is warm

Faint lemon


GennaRose Nethercott

2 Poems

I.  I prayed for the water to leave. Drowned a goat in the bay with a laurel of juniper hung around its throat. It brayed until it didn’t. I thought this would bring you back. One body for another.


Heather Hughes

3 Poems

Strapped down in a room. Cream and that ugly green that reflects back ugly: you bruised, terrible, calm. Too much, the mute bulb-flicker. Mountains crowd against the window. I edge in.


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Elizabeth Clark Wessel

Blood Bag

All my dreams are about disasters – a plane crash, environmental crisis, losing you, searching for you.


I read about puerperal fever. I wonder if Mary Wollstonecraft felt fear in those last days or if pain was too much of a distraction. I think about sacrifice, about 


Jennifer Rane Hancock

2 Poems

HR Haldeman told me what was said, but only

honesty will set you free, Dick. Dick,

look at yourself. Penned up in your skivvies


Peter Vanderberg

3 Poems

Make a plan.  Stay optimistic.  Your time adrift is likely to be brief & relatively comfortable.  Tell motivational stories.


Sylvia Beato

2 Poems

Patio chairs are clothes racks for vines. They snake, decorating dreams of lizards asleep on their green.


Christopher Kennedy

3 Poems

An angry Christ enters limbo with a cross held over his head like a spear. He’s pushing open the door and appears to be crushing three demons made of burnished silver, one with bloody hands, crying out from its bird-like head.

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Roger Smith

[1] I had a conversation with my daughter

about the differences between having cancer and being black in america and she told me that cancer is black, dark, dismal and causes depression, blackness in the brain, in the cells, it metastasizes and the people in their angelic lab coats

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Liz Howard

from Letters in a Bruised Cosmos

I might sit in a chair and watch as a stranger’s brain appears

on the screen, slice by slice. It is the gruesome cum digital

and it what rues this world.


Whitney Kerutis

from Song of Discordia

There is a script I am writing, rewriting, reciting

in order to get away from myself.


As if just there in your upturned palms,  new pastoral

appears as a throat making negative sounds open   

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Amy Lawless

3 Poems

As I slid over some wet sidewalk dog shit, trying not to fall, I heard a businessman say There’s no such thing as monsters!

Rumi suggested Start a huge foolish project like Noah.

Simeon Berry Somerville, MA (March 2014)

Simeon Berry


The scuffed graffiti’d space

reeks like a vampire’s armpit



sweated out


into powdered velvet


C.J, Martin

Sentimental Odes

A little note to the one who in life was known as—


Everybody gets elliptical & us—Hello!—all salutary

under lax or activist statutes,


in the little boat, we read, moves always

towards the perviness & necessity of hope.


April Freely

Various Poems

snow is a mistake foreshadowing the end of all color                                                            

as I sit on the tarmac          16D          in the specific darkness                               of a winter

night          here comes the scatter          here comes the                               loose edge       


Emily Toder

Movement Study

One moves from a sense of confidence

One’s footing is learned from a doing

Footing is a phrase denoting confidence

Descending stairs takes such belief

Ascent is blind and normal

Flatlands are unsafe due to the flatness of waters

Moving on earth is difficult and hazardous

Historically it is the number one cause of death  


Cassandra de Alba

Self-Portrait With Rabbit Ears And Seventeen

a girl in crooked bangs

hitting the high note

on a channel of half static.


telephone cord


around my wrist.


Maggie Wells

Bright Blight

I close my eyes


when politicians speak


because there is logic


in darkness.


Alicia Wright

3 Poems

A people’s way of fighting reflects a people’s way of thinking, and the lessons of fighting are very apt, in a kind of dialectical progression, to modify and refine the thinking. …[T]he pragmatic bias of American philosophy is not without significant relation to the encounter between the Monitor  and the Merrimac, the Confederate submarine, the earthworks of Petersburg or Atlanta, the observation balloon 


Trish Salah

3 Poems

Every kind of hiding now. You cannot say “the war.” The dead are loud mouths. Looking forward to a copy of my copy. Care to hum a few bars? “Don’t you forget about me” or “All about Eve.” Home is a staging ground. Render unto gender what is gender’s, render unto race what belongs to race. What if I preferred a skinless cat? Disequilibrium of the punctum. News vacillates, unable to choose. The white van circles 

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Lizzy Golda 

2 Poems

On the right klezmer medley, baby.  

Nature's not a thing but ecology is real.

Horah around the shack cuz it's almost shabbat

in the southern hemisphere.  


Anastasia Dotzauer

2 Poems

I can’t make it here, she said. We were at a work party. You can’t understand, can you? I was never supposed to be here. Oh great, an eccentric.


Zakia Henderson-Brown

3 Poems

we evolve, textbooks claim

like a slow-moving wave

from dust particle

to many-limbed animal

capable of anything

but survival. what did i see     

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Michael Estes

2 Poems

My body, the problem

envelops a morning. Can’t

won’t can’t make like a

cheetah to coffee, and all


boar, no antelope into the    

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Connie Yu

3 Poems

in setting


for this trip, I

write: to record

in real time       which

in writing I felt i

had never done    

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Eric Stiefel

Interrupted in the Night

We were balanced on a tight wire,

                                       but it was also

as if I’d called her from a séance or a dream, where a spider

could be the afterbody