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I’m sitting in a truck bed full of cherries. It’s August and we’re on Main Street and I don’t like cherries. In the dream I’m not having,...

Don’t Write Poetry about bees. Though they keep you company in the garden as you tend to your flowers. And don’t write about flowers ....

You reach for a fry pan in the same cabinet your poltergeist father hides his stash of `secret` booze, a graveyard of bottles buried...

Where the window screen was split, repaired — sewn barely back together with grey cotton thread, a dandelion seed attempts its way in,...

i split infinitives because you told me it’s okay that’s latin’s problem not ours thirty-five days i’ve ripened soft flesh gives way...

who was i but a glass of water unable to exist without a pair of lips, a box of grits dredging my mattress? in my mind i was singled...

Cracked like the skyline at 18:11 countless men mine me for coal; I suck the midday Moon like a good symbiot, like a pretty harlot of...

Bellyache Earth got swallowed by a planet-eating space whale. In the belly, it spun and disco-balled with the other planets, like new...

Originally published by Hecate Shiksha Dheda is a South African of Indian descent. She uses writing to express her OCD and depression...

And we didn’t need coral-coded kitchenware, and we weren’t good at cooking. Maybe I’m not talking about horses, maybe I’m talking about...

a girl with raven black hair handed me a perfect orange. The orange crossed the aisle as easily as the conversion of metric distance to...

I’m bones beneath your buried breaths.  Our vault of ink bequeaths a dozen deaths.  You cut me in our currency.  A shank, assault...

Devils deign, Faeries feign Lamdegs bang And the Angels sang Banshees scream, Wee wanes dream Far over the hill Madness beamed Eternal...

In the morning, I left my lodge to look for food Not finding any, I ventured further The water became thick; my feet grew heavy I...

The front door yawns open, a cavernous mouth that spits us into the street. Midnight’s pulse throbs at my back. My parents lie fast...

In Quasimodo's jostling stone-cobbled street From the gulls' wings upon the river's soft thrum Through the colombes around the clochard's...

I do have boundaries. I am enclosed, but porous. Permeable and edged with moving lashes like some alien eye. Ectoplasm, endoplasm,...

It was a yellow-leaved day with a crystalline sky and brisk breeze when we washed the upstairs windows— my mother and I—she in the...

Raindrops in August unlocks the door to September. A blessing from the purple sky makes a lot of puddles that reflect a variety of...

Misshapen forms scrawled across the Trex decking in late afternoon: a green outlined jack-o-lantern wishing it was ripe with a mouth...