Featured Writing

a statue of an angel appears to be blowing clouds into the sky from a horn

The Angel

By Phibby Venable An angel was perched delicately on the straight back chair in the corner, but everyone pretended not to see her. At least it appeared that way to fifteen – year old Katie, who couldn’t take her eyes off the golden wings and slim figure. “Mama, don’t you…

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Photos by Eddie Fouse

I Have No Literary Movement

by David Hutt bebop jazz never bought a transatlantic ticket so I am no beat. I listen to well-weathered guitars in dive bars where people dance with razor-cut smiles and open mouths like tombs all gurning and contorting to life. I listen to poets in ties. I listen to men…

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