The Oboist & The Revolution Passed Me By by Maureen Seaton
The only way we can properly forge into a
dark future is to bring along our oboes. Bring
them high. Bring them low.
Five Prose Poems by Denise Duhamel
Once upon a time there was elaborate plumbing, then people started shitting in
the woods again. Once we worshipped goddesses who bore children—now we
want mothers back to work in twelve weeks.
Combustible by Claire Bateman
In the realm where infants, like comets, show up in flames, igniting
as soon as they make contact with the air, all of the delivery room
Suite X by Amy Breau
I was prepared to answer the first question, have you ever wanted to kill someone?
But it completely threw me off when they asked, have you ever wanted to keep
Three Prose Poems by Shivani Mehta
A snow leopard, a tree, an owl. Her favorite is any winged creature. Bats,
dragonflies.