He walks the battlefield
steps over corpses
collects swords, shields, to stack
in piles.

“My father always detested ‘M.A.S.H.’ He thought it represented the normalization of war.”

The sun is a flaming orange
afro, teased and fluffed, spilling
its nectar on hot concrete sidewalks,
evaporating like exhaust-fume mirages,
just beyond my reach.

Besides sex and drugs, using language is the only real benefit of adulthood.

We remember how we forgot to hurt when we danced in stiletto pumps. What we wish for now is another walk through Paris, another climb up the steep hills of Montmartre.

Linda Neal first wrote poems when she was in high school. She went on to study literature at […]

The cheese I know comes from the beautiful cows, cows as beautiful as princesses that graciously graze on the deep grass, grass as salty as the sea, grass as green as the emerald lake of your dreams.

She took the swan now in her arms, began to untwist its neck. It felt like killing the thing. But a girl had to shower. She smiled at the joke of it, death by unwringing. Still she brought the terry beak to her lips before giving the neck a final turn.

We have made it to Issue 2! Our goal was to produce an issue every season. For now, […]

Old Flicker, New Flame It’s a cold grey morning. A workday. A school day. Burning diesel from the […]