Old Lady
by Gad Nusinov click to see full size
Art Journal
Bookmark in the Text of Past Pigtails
by Leigh Phillips I was twenty then and we were pushing a Subaru through the clouds that hung low over the waistline of Southern Pennsylvania, and South we dipped, our constellations were heavy and the headphones hugged my head. Bass notes dragged me deeper into the groove of hour, collapsing on hour; you smelled like […]
For The Grace Of The Homeless Lady On Her Birthday
by Jennifer Diskin In an Oak Park suburb, a homeless lady takes our picture in front of the Unity Temple. She looks for the subway, and we take a half hour journey through these streets because she told us it was her birthday. She’s looking for company and when it comes to loneliness what choice […]
Nenna
by Zev Gottdiener Nnenna began to see all the dyads and networks fighting between one another. They exercised their cliometrics like a heteroglossia of bathhouse cherubs, contemplating the conversive virus that had so recently appeared on the scene and/or universe. There was a noticeable contamination at the engine level. From the mitochondrial level up it […]
Ten Fingered Hand
by Joe Weil It was a terrible year when Micheal Jackson was God, and Diana Ross was his mother. Forget getting layed. I worked a factory, grave yard shift, came home at nine in the morning, belched forth by the 58 bus, opened a bottle of Becks just to wash the steel chips from my […]
Argument
by Adam Fitzgerald The life we didn’t live. The time tepid as bronze, but honest. The stacked air, the frozen rail, the dripping of blue drops in summer. The honey-trees, the brick façade, the empty canyons of light between a street and the wheeled grocery cart of the sun where a cloud slips his footing. […]
Jason
by Liz Rosenberg The summer night is radiantly cool. You’d have liked it. You’d have loved the chili-pepper of the rose, daisies at the zoo, the color of a shell’s curved roseate innards, the orangey scarlet ibis picking his lit way along the wood-chip path and penguins flittering through the pond like bats. “Flying is […]
