Jeffrey Morgan There’s a barn owl that nests somewhere on our street. Reports differ. I’ve named her Ghost Face Junior and will correct people. Imagine her eyes dark marbles in the...
Hunt Hawkins The elevator opens on the 19th floorto a room full of hay, bleating sheep and goats,a loose rooster looking for grain.Through the windows we see the bright Palisadesand in the haze the...
Kira K Homsher Two shirtless teenage boysPlay ball across the street.They dart in and out of my little square of vision,Casting long evening shadows downThe sidewalk. Oh, one of them has dropped The...
Aimee Wright Clow Three toes fall over the line, severed at just the right place so thefoot does not bleed. The foot walks away and the toes becomeseeds, slowly wriggling into the mud-line where they...
Zebulon Huset He didn’t tell me, and I shouldn’t have been snooping—but—how much privacy should a five year-old have? Finding his post-it diary was adorable until I noticedthe wavy pages...
Lisa Huffaker Lisa Huffaker creates poetry, collage, and assemblage. She is a frequent visiting artist at the Nasher Sculpture Center, a recent C3 Visiting Artist at the Dallas Museum of Art, and...
W. Todd Kaneko Art by Herlinde Spahr We will walk down to the beachwhere it’s always night, where the fish open themselvesand lay their guts across the stones, the fish we caught on the lineand the...
John Dudek It’s true you didn’t do this, didn’t breed in the long limb and overbuilt joints that deny the hardwood any give, that fold the dog like a yarn swift. It was built not for comfort...
