Skip to Content
By Kim Roberts
Oysters may look to us
like wet floppy tongues,
but there’s no licking.
There’s no touching.
By D. Gilson
The honeysuckle dew slick
& sweet this morning
& only an empty Wendy's cup
thrown to ditch
By Joshua Weiner
Today is Sunday.
Today, for the first time, they let me go out into the sun.
And I stood there I didn't move,
struck for the first time, the very first time ever:
By Jody Bolz
First, take away light.
Leave time—but make it dark,
disordered. Make it sleepless.
Not day, not night.
By Jennifer Chang
The daffodils can go fuck themselves.
I’m tired of their crowds, yellow rantings
about the spastic sun that shines and shines
and shines. How are they any different
By Regie Cabico
tell my students i'm gay
By Elizabeth Acevedo
Rob, my heart is a peeled clementine and I don't wince
anymore when you stick your thumb in the hollow middle,
pull apart. You don't even swallow these pieces
By Venus Thrash
Deep in the heart of the Garden of Eden,
past the Euphrates & Tigris riverbanks,
the marsh grass, reed beds, bulrushes,
By celeste doaks
Aaron and Anita, the first real twins I ever personally knew,
drum majored our ragged band in high school called--
the Marching LaSalle Lions. Anita was the outgoing,
By Susan Scheid
There we stood, dressed like Egyptians
or what we thought Egyptians should look like
from all our National Geographic magazines.