seek glory of choice
at my reflection
clearly distorted and
by Judy Shepps Battle of Kendall Park
Em wrote the book on trail running, it was now in its 12th edition, even though she had given it up. Em’s Achilles’ heel was her Achilles’ heel, so now she was married to the idea of being married. Still, as she opened the dishwasher and saw the spoons spooning, she craved the trail run. For grisly encounters with grisly bears and firing up the fire. Now there was no more running. She sighed and reached for a spoon.
by Michael Donoghue of Vancouver
The arctic air rolls north, perpetual like a vacuum sucking snow from southern lands. My back is against a steady breeze, lively in my venture.
This time of year, there is all-day illumination here, caught between the pastures of playtime and constantly forgetting what time to go to bed.
I awake each morning; thick shades mask the sun.
When will it be time to go out and see the moon shine on snow banks and Moose tracks?
by M. R. Carter of Hagerstown
Loving you is like masturbating in a closet with sandpaper.
by Caroline Maun of Detroit
"Hey, can I get a reading," she asks on the phone.
"No," I say, "You told me that’s not a part of your world anymore."
"Just one card," she says, needing something besides fortune-telling.
"Fine," I say. I draw one card for her on my bedspread where I think about her every night.
"Death," I say, "Transition. Keep yourself healthy. Get ready for change."
"Thanks," she says, "I’m moving. Didn’t know how else to tell you."
by Eric Kenron of Chicago
You. You have. You have driven. You have driven away. You have driven away from. You have driven away from me. You have driven away from me on your motorcycle four times. I watch you and then I lie down on the grass and think about things that you say. You say you could never. You say you could never live with me because you would go crazy. I think about what your name sounds like coming out of other girl's mouths.
by Chloe Caldwell of Seattle