“Bugonia” by Zachary Lundgren

September 30, 2016 0

Virgil believed bees were born from dead cattle, spawning out of bloody rust and bones grown hard under sun. I don’t know much about bees, but I believed I’d see you in the withered air of August, standing there at the mouth of my sister’s gravel road. Our sciences, they – these stories we tell and believe, we share as ravenously as vultures tearing constellations into flesh, a white carcass, one honest manuscript. Does it matter if this is true if it feeds you all the same? Zachary Lundgren received his MFA in poetry from the University of South Florida [Read more]

“Paradise in 6 Easy Installments” by Joseph Reich

September 26, 2016 0

1, Suburbia is never quite cracked up to what’s it’s supposed to be whatever that it’s cracked up to be while it’s never ever really quite real which is what gives it all its charm and sex appeal living happily ever after; deal of a lifetime and guess can be just fine but for the most part not that’s why throughout our life-cycle we order things from the back of cereal boxes, catalogues, marvel comics i.e. charles atlas so we won’t get picked on or made fun of and now able to pick up all the girls in their bikini-clad [Read more]

“A Blue Dream at the Bottom of the Ocean” by Adam Huening

September 19, 2016 0

Peter had never seen the ocean, but its crystal image haunted his dreams. At night, after his family had gone to sleep, he lay in his bed, in that space between asleep and awake and felt the water engulf his body. He could feel it curl over his skin as he sank deeper into the depths. Sometimes he would reach toward the sun as it slipped away, spreading over the surface above him, but the whispers of the depths swirled around him, coaxing him toward oblivion as he sank deeper to the soft sand, which parted gently to accept him [Read more]

“Two Out of Three” by Arthur Plotnik

September 12, 2016 1

On Sunday Morning I opened my eyes to an inky void, confirming my latest fears about the cosmos: that it was illusory, existing only in my head. And not just illusory, but a real bastard for making me think I had an “other” joined to me in something called wedlock. I cried out for this other, just in case. “Kathy? Katherine!” “What is it?” she said after a minute. The universe re-materialized, sitting on my face. It smelled of stove gas and her lavender body oil. Her tone, as dry as the windowless-bedroom, had grown progressively drier the more I’d [Read more]

“Gabriel” by Emma Atkinson

September 5, 2016 1

There was a boy who lived on my street until he shot his parents. I wasn’t home the night he was arrested, which is too bad because everyone who was has this big story to tell now. This guy Dennis lives five blocks away and still won’t stop telling everyone about how he heard the sirens and “knew something was up,” like that means anything. My parents kind of know the woman who heard the shots and called the cops. She babysat me once, ten years ago, when my mom had the flu and my dad was out of town. [Read more]

“We’ll Always Have Paris” by Richard Zwicker

July 18, 2016 0

All his life, Aesacus had the ability to interpret dreams. He was barely a young man when his stepmother Queen Hecabe dreamed she gave birth to a smoldering piece of wood. When she asked him its implications, he said her future son, named Paris, would provide warmth during difficult times. He dared not reveal the warmth would come from the burning carcass of Troy.

“In the Margins” by Eowyn Randall

July 11, 2016 2

Gus Feldin was re-reading The Hidden Faces of the Stars on his morning commute when he found the first note in the margin. Pressed up against the wall of the subway car in his attempt not to touch the person in the seat next to him, Gus was already sweating through his shirt. The note was a spot of chaotic color on the monochromatic page. The sight of it made Gus’s skin prickle.

“Sappho and Hedone” by Eric Erickson

July 6, 2016 0

September 22, 1978   Grace let Sophia hold her hand as they walked down Clifton Street toward the hotel. A few tourists wrinkled their noses, but under the glint of the sun, and the haze of inebriation wafting from the bars and beer gardens, their spectacle seemed almost placid, a thin slice of sentimentality in a tight corridor of make-believe. At the bottom of the hill, Grace could see the dim outline of Niagara’s Horseshoe Falls. She could see the suspended rainbow hanging in the afternoon sky and she could feel the hint of spray as it traveled in the [Read more]

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