Cone by tristram fane-saunders Only a prototype, but the results have been wonderfully promising. Volunteer T is...

How Much Do You Love Me? after caroline bird by sam szanto My ten-year-old was up way past her bedtime. She was dancing with Daddy Sloth,...

Plague-Tree by ben blyth That tree must be in its thirties I quip to no-one on an afternoon walk with no dog sundered by lightening its...

& by heidi andrea restrepo rhodes & this muscle dappling the pleasure fields of the page: still, the running heart, the moving line . Its...

Some Notes on the Final Session (An Exploded Essay) by patrick wright When does acceptance become too accepting? Is this the kind of...

Final Session with the Psychologist by patrick wright How to end your feud? Move towards detente. Or was your wish to kick God in the shin...

Darling Tunnel by bela davidson search - darling. find-my-darling iphone app free google maps search my darling location now location how...

On Dating a Woman After Dating a Man by ellora sutton My face pushed into the pillow I guess he could see the gold-plated clasp of my...

Romanaccio by costantino toth You’re responsible for hundreds of climaxes. When people speak you and scale your jaggeds up to achoo:...

The Fucked Up Camping Trip by justin lacour i struggle to make conversation with the other dads in cub scouts maybe we should form a prog...

I Was Not Always There and I Am Not There Now by stephanie ritzema Not too long ago, I learnt that Original Thought is an unidentified...

On Monk's Hill (To Be Loved) by stephanie ritzema Could you and I drink saltwater from empty oyster shells? Would then we ascend to...

Everything Nice by lauren anne cassidy Would that I could to the wind, say nothing but instead, smoke omegas are born into becoming and...

Cherry Boys by austin crowley There was a hand-hold, a kind of failed handshake, that led to blushing. Embarrassing, to blush. To pluck a...

Eurydice, at The End [Ovid, X: 1-85] by helen jenks There is always a river, that first boundary of shape, preventing the crossing. See...

I Could Not by m. speaker Would you meet me, love? I should not, beloved, I do not think In the house, the on up North. With the music,...

Not Quite A Graveyard Elegy by patrick wright And now the garden with its rockery and swings — ghostings of past summers. Everything...

I Rarely Show Up For Funerals by belinda rimmer The voice on the phone is from long ago. No crossfire, no haunting, no clumsy...

In The Capuchin Crypt by ricia kearns They must have loved their friars, to make this slow art from mildew and bone— thirty years buried,...

Carrying (For Wren) by jennifer dumbelton Seven weeks new, we stand on Brighton Beach and I feel slick sea-shaped pebbles shift under my...