by George Freek
I stare into the lake,
where the moon is reflected
like a shrunken pear. Continue reading
by George Freek
I stare into the lake,
where the moon is reflected
like a shrunken pear. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Zach Murphy
The cicadas are extremely loud this summer, and so are my mother’s outfits. The leopard print high-heels, the oversized sunglasses, and the hat with the pink floral arrangement on its brim are some of the more understated pieces in her wardrobe.
“You don’t hear about the sun when it’s behind the clouds,” she once told me as she put her beet-red lipstick on in the mirror. Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Andy Gambell
Engine hums mesmerize like a Buddhist Om, and roads
unfurl themselves like mistakes or promises. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry