Need Comes Down Like A Mallett

And the town crier cries la localende! This is one of the stories where a stranger

        comes to town. A stranger with a stranger tool.

Come down from the hill freckled with mustard gesare. You know the stuff, Mara

        how it explodes in middle spring.

Nov 14, 2022
Poetry
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The Draw

Nearing the corner I held the rifle steady, my trigger-finger taut. My heart thumped with this simple thrill. These new guns were quick to fire, and accurate, but we’d yet to work out how to store two rubber bands, so I still only had the one shot. I couldn’t waste it. Halfway to the corner, a blind angle obscured by honeysuckle, I paused, listening.

Oct 5, 2022
Fiction

Epithanatophobia

Don’t ever say
I didn’t see it
coming.  

Sep 19, 2022
Poetry

Perfection

The perfect object is a bird never seen, heard, or otherwise sensed behind fir trees along the bank of a river sounding ceaselessly, while you walk with her hand-in-hand through the undergrowth.

Sep 10, 2022
Fiction

Our chapbooks

Our chapbook contest may be closed, but past poetry and fiction winners are still available for purchase! Check out what we have on sale on our Submittable. Full page of past winners coming soon.

epigenetics or: time draws a circle

which summer is this
             arithmetic is one thing, freckles another
                  power drags from the east in a late august storm

Jun 2, 2021
Poetry

Fire Dancer

I walk along dusty streets at the base of the Verdugo Mountains just north of Los Angeles, my gaze fixed upon the jagged horizon, where an angry orange line burns, jumping and snapping, devouring brush and charring the landscape.

Jun 2, 2021
Nonfiction

Hallowing, or the Black Body Returns

reparations begin
   here,
within
    the body,   within
the striations of muscle
   to tendon, nerve to tissue

Nov 23, 2020
Poetry

The Worst

I thought the worst was over. Surgery, chemo, hormonal treatment, which they don’t tell you is actually hormone-blocking treatment. So then: hot flashes, crappy sleep, looking for clothes that disguise my lopsided chest.

Nov 20, 2020
Fiction

Ten Days to Hold You

A ditch-digger pauses from swinging down his pickaxe to notice me and wave. An old lady with a bale of hay balanced on her head wishes me good morning.

Nov 20, 2020
Nonfiction

True Story

In Clark County, Washington – Oregon with a sales tax – the measles are back like jazz standards.

Nov 19, 2020
Poetry

American Sycamore

did they forget
the vibration
of our throats
humming
in the shade?

Nov 19, 2020
Poetry

ECH(O)-TERRORIST (2)

The pistol shakes in the sheriff’s right hand when he hauls me in for trespassing. O father, I have never seen your face.

Oct 18, 2020
Poetry

ECH(O)-TERRORIST (3)

O hunter, I was wrong: I want my casket made of particleboard.

Oct 18, 2020
Poetry
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