TRANSLATION – Moon Song by Raoul Ponchon translated by Mark Lager

Moon Song Dead moon white iron moon Moon which freezes new herring Moon eye of a whiting fried and frizzled Empty moon white blade moon Glass moon new herring Moon eye of a whiting deep fried Worn out moon tinpot moon Moon a round of drinks new cop Moon eye of a criminal we’ve had… Read more »


POETRY – 2 Poems by Carol Matos

In the Asteroid Belt   Between spread fingers we are bits of flesh, no more.   Like a rock left over from the beginning,   you never come close to earth. Not to mess   with switchblades, I shake loose my sweat,   fix a frequency, a steady hum with no collisions.   Grooming myself… Read more »


FICTION – The Salesman by Sara Brody

after Zachary Schomberg’s “The Animal Spell”   He told me that what I needed most in the world was a monkey, so I bought two. I know you’ve heard this story but I think today you need it again, or I need to tell it. I was twenty-two; he was eighteen but I wouldn’t have… Read more »

Windy Shore

ART – Northern Landscapes by Robert Tokley

Art is like life, you only get from it, what you put into it.


NONFICTION – Sighting the Bridge by Sarah Eisner

The Bay stirs beneath the Golden Gate Bridge and I survey the tide, eager and waiting to leap. My twelve-year-old son, Wilson, watches me through his camera a few feet away on the bow of Chucky’s Pride. Don’t worry about the sharks, I remind myself. I choose to believe there aren’t any. Instead, I’ll swim… Read more »

  • Get Real

    Get Real: My Fellow Democrats…

    By Carla Stockton
    “We disagree. About a lot of things. We are of varying gender identifications, sexual preferences, professional aspirations, spiritual convictions, and even clothing obsessions. But we all belong. So why would we not avidly proclaim, vive la différence when it comes to choosing our heroes? When did we stop proudly hailing our individual rights to choose? How did we become so insecure that we need to cut one another off because we don’t agree which of the two candidates “deserves” the nomination most?”

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    Word Hole #18

    by Michelle Hogmire

    “Anyway, I’ve decided to write this brief because I have solid proof that polygamous marriages can work—successfully and happily, without any negative social side effects. For, you see, I’ve been in a polygamous marriage for years now. Yes, that’s right, it’s time that I finally admitted it: I’m married, not to multiple others who exist outside of me, but to myself. I’m married to all the characters in my own head—every person that I’ve ever played in a film.”

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    Word Hole #17

    by Michelle Hogmire

    “Hastert is placed inside THE CAGE, where he’s subjected to the cruelest torture, i.e. having to watch the Nick Cage films Ghost Rider and Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance on repeat.”

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    Word Hole #16

    by Michelle Hogmire

    “Dear Sinopaca Drug Cartel,
    I’m writing in response to your grant writer job posting, which I saw today on As a recent MFA in Fiction candidate—now graduated—I believe I’m an ideal applicant for this position.”

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    POETRY – 5 Poems by Claudia F. Savage

    Long Island Railroad from Jamaica, Main Line, 1985   Tonight moths may be lost. In the graffiti’s shadows loud boys cover my twelve-year-old mouth with their urgent desperation. Even in the corners. Even. The train shakes our eyelids open. Window. Car. Car. Window. Jeans with the knees razored out. Sneaker tongues slouch toward the rumble…. Read more »

  • Get Real

    Get Real: Viva New York

    By Carla Stockton
    “Living in the city, we are afflicted with sensory fatigue. Concentrating on where we need to go, we forget to look up, which means we don’t see things like airborne hawks, rooftop forests, flying buttresses. Shielding our olfactory lobes from the assault of urine and vomit, we miss the symphony of food and perfume smells that tickle our pleasure centers. We stick our fingers in our ears to block out marauding sirens and squealing tires, and so we don’t hear the melodic notes of leisure laughter, wafting music, sonorous speaking voices.”

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    FICTION – Excerpt from Time Machine by Katrine Øgaard Jensen

    Mother used to say there are two types of stories in the world: The Fall of the King and The Great Journey.   +   You tell me to take Mother’s hands and pull her up, help her sit in the bed. Her palms are soft and clammy, proving she is not yet a corpse…. Read more »

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    Word Hole #15

    Common Sense: Bathroom Safety
    by Michelle Hogmire

    “And finally, because Pat McCrory is so transphobic and sexually unconfident, he will get a public bathroom all to himself, with automated machines that do the work for him—that way, he can avoid touching his own penis, which is, in his own words “gay.” All other restroom amenities will remain the same, including of course, the customary male bathroom attendant.”

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    PROFILE – Poet Bob Holman by Kristina Bicher

    “Writing has a different aesthetic: generally, you can’t or don’t repeat a word or a phrase. But that kind of thinking doesn’t work in orality. Creating the moment, the event, is very different from clinically re-writing it. The ability to hold your audience mesmerized requires that you be present in the moment with them.”

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    POETRY – 2 Poems by Emily Bludworth de Barrios

    The culture oriented itself toward shopping The culture oriented itself toward shopping The culture invented a flat vivid world to sink into As one sinks into a bath and closes the door and runs the warm water with a Book or a glass of sharp wine Inside the white noise of water out rushes any… Read more »

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    POETRY – 2 Poems by Shelby Vane

    REMEMBERING THE OTHER   In dream sleep your body finds my back pressed like a stamp, sticky against yours. You can go weeks forgetting about me, like your face wild in my hands like finger-lick like   let me taste. If we still care in 100 years, if we remember after all that time, I’ll… Read more »

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    Word Hole #14

    Crossing Borders: A Continental Love Story
    By William Monette

    “Justin Trudeau, his long flowing locks wet with sweat, enters the oval office, as Barack, standing by the moonlit window in sweats, ponders the rose garden—and the fate of the melancholy world.”