Joshua Ferris After a long silence—during which we pulled our troops from Vietnam, the dreary events of September 11th precipitated the collapse of Iran, and the Quixotic landed safely upon the red...
Lyn Lifshin you don’t seem to care about what i’m giving next thing i’m doing a strip tease we’re in the snow together but your icy cock, what are we doing here jesus i can’t even look in...
2015 Contest Winners Greg Grummer Poetry Award Winner Konstantin Kulakov, “Keats by Glenmont Metro” Judge Brian Teare’s Comments i admire this poem for the ways it inhabits space....
Harry Newman Denver, NY for that first year she told me she could only paint with black broad strokes more like sketching she saw only in outline an empty world of edges white showing through...
Colleen Abel The word deviant. A lovely, leering word, its two keening e sounds and the snap shut of its final syllable. You would never guess this body harbors such linguistic loveliness....
Nikki Reklitis First Things First He will walk towards you in a sky-blue shirt and you will know it’s him. His eyes will be wide and deep and beautiful. You will walk together past Mooney’s Bay,...
Anna Krem My mother stands at the mirror in the bathroom of our old house, holding a cheap plastic palette of makeup she bought on clearance a year ago. She swabs at a square with the stubby black...
Bill Moran 1. Oh yeah well my Grandpaw says, hey, hey my Pawpaw says: “When god spoke us into existence, he slurred and forgot his words. Wanted to say ‘bright’ but said ‘bone’ and here we...
Konstantin Kulakov I. Metrorail. A spent, amber streetlight. There, a deer tearing at warm grass— a nauseous-sweet mist rising as from a Bangladeshi garden. Tomorrow, the sun will climb over...
Gillian Cummings You were about to float away so they taught you not to. Soft-crofted into quiet they come, finely fretted in frocks of spook light—winged ones they bring, goldfinch, marlin,...
