Wyatt Thrailkill

Big commotion last night. Brianna O’Quinn ripped a shotgun blast into the night on Lookout Mountain. No one knows what she saw. She won’t tell neither. The widows on picket duty say they found her on her haunches, eating dirt. But they must of confused her with Darkish. No one else eats dirt but her….

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Molly Schulman

Savannah, Georgia Ralph was a painter of miniatures— miniature couches, mostly. Ralph wore thimbles, like rings & wore one too many watches, which is to say, two watches, one on each wrist & sometimes if you listened closely, and you likely listened closely, you could hear that subtle subtle ticktock coming from his ankle. But…

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Meta Analysis of Three Unwritten Poems

In which the poet confesses a love too real In words too plain In which he recalls a social services waiting room, stolen star wars action figures therein. In which he laments his inability to time travel In which he records his voice for his father imprisoned, whom never relates the conditions thereof. In which…

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Soap Scum

My father bought rounds of shaving soap wrapped in crinkled pastel paper and stored them in the bathroom drawer. When I was small enough to perch on the counter, I’d watch him wet a caramel-colored brush, swirl the bristles around a mug of soap, and paint his face with the froth. I loved the squelch…

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Brie Quartin

Morning The sun spins silk over gold threaded hills that ebb and roll and spill back onto themselves while the morning mist lifts like a loomed lace mantilla revealing slivers of ecru, lavender, moss ~ that cast shadows of what seem like a million horizons.   Cypress meander like drunken crusaders, grapevines stand steadfast, shackled…

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Hecate

Why doesn’t love end when it should? The man I loved has found someone else. Palm trees lance skies full of low clouds. Sunset breaks like a jellyfish tide. It will rain. She walks to his door with her wolfhound. I’m shocked seeing how old she is. Black hair, dark eyes, short, thin, not his…

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