by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
By John Sweet and i was dreaming about your death and i knew it was a dream, knew you were alive, and i woke up crying, 85 degrees at two in the morning, empty house in a pointless town had given up on escape but could still appreciate the idea…
By John Sweet this quiet knowledge, this unspoken admission, this stupid goddamn truth that all of your great adventures are in the past that nothing can be touched without the ever-present threat of doing it harm not by you, of course, but by 100,000,000 others just like you, which is…
By John Sweet An ambulance in the sunlight. An arm, a leg, something missing from the picture, but the picture has no sound. The dog has been shot twice, but refuses to die. Cut its head off and it grows back,…