ant5

soaking in the jar for three days the beans are pink and ready to split

my face is a trapdoor spider candy foil floats along the dark train floor

“aren’t all prophesies self-fulfilling?” sugar written in spanish

for just a moment my sense of smell returns the bewildered elms

feeling a bee the coins in my hand flash in the sun

Chris Gordon

March 20, 2000

the pineapple kept falling over so we ate it

Scott Metz

January 2019

Stepping on every shadow I cast away my faith

John McManus

January 2019

pillow talk from a semi-bold dark

Cherie Hunter Day

January 2019

The quicksand scenes that terrified me when young

Jon Cone

January 2019

o

cean

‘s

blind

hand

Johannes S. H. Bjerg

January 2019

where my decayed tooth

once was now a word

enters its grave

Aditya Bahl

January 2019

White sheets

billow in the wind

a fisherman’s wife

Sam Savage

January 2019

breathing the old woman’s air

the radioactive

wild pig

Scott Metz

January 2019

The dandelion clocks your mother beneath the bed

John McManus

January 2019