Moonlight by J. Newell

May 1, 1632

I undid the tie on my bonnet, skipping through yellow reeds long enough to tickle my chin. There was a cool breeze in the air, promises of fall, that lifted tresses of my brown, waved hair. My mother had never let me cut it, so it fell near to my…

The Upsell Artist by Frank Mundo

I read somewhere once that, on average, a man thinks
 about sex every seven seconds. That means,
 in the sixty seconds it took me to pay her,
 I thought about it at least eight times.
 
 Once was the white blob of mayonnaise
 on her green polo shirt, just beneath her name…

Three New Poems by Julia Horwitz, Cassandra Cervi, and Sara Barnett from Beautiful Losers #1

Denny’s
By Julia Horwitz

– Artesia & Aviation st.
– pull in & slip by
– gas pump & park
– quickly

Acceptable by Kelly Grieve [Catechize #2]

Acceptance. I often analyze words among many other things and I when I find myself at…

Purgation by Thomas Elson

Friday, February 19, 1982. Berdan Daily Tribune. The Ninnescah County Sheriff’s Department reported a Roads and Bridges employee discovered a partially nude female body near a ditch seven miles from Berdan. Her name has been withheld pending investigation. The preliminary report…

Three Poems by Tim Gavin

THE ARTIBONITE RIVER

This brown river (splitting a gash in the country from west
To east) is more than a god, for god’s are myths that twists
And plots, unrefined unlike this river running abreast
At high tide and wide unlike a god that dwindles as it slips

All of Saint Peter’s Associates by Jihoon Park

All of Saint Peter’s Associates

Saint Peter sat at his desk, doing figures. Stacks of papers were strewn across his desk as he typed away on a small desktop computer. The only other object on his desk was a small…

Spheres of Influence I by Michael Prihoda

for my hometown
 
 when i go home it is to a town
 of made-from-scratch biscuits.
 i have memories of you
 & to prove our humanness
 
 please say you remember me
 & care enough to ask how
 i met my wife beyond
 your confines.
 
 of all the names i…

To the Girl Who Told Me I’ll Never Be a Poet by Ron Riekki

That’s like telling me I’ll never be a corpse.
 Or that I’ll never be a swimming pool.
 I am a corpse swimming pool.
 I’m a salesman.
 Worse.
 I’m a poet.
 She thinks she’s one too,
 except she quit.
 I haven’t seen a poem come…

White Sulphur Springs by Embe Charpentier

Judge Harvey Mills made all of us testify in open court. He thinks we’re the parable of the week.

Damned fool. Not one of these preachers ever been convicted. That’s called religious freedom, friends.