by Kevin Sanders “What is wrong with this generation?” We hear it all the time; its words uttered like a mantra, whose sole purpose is to soften the blow of witnessed stupidity. What is wrong with this generation? Our lost, downtrodden, desperate, dismal, disillusioned generation? I say this with all…
by Rachel Fikes Prologue-August 2011 The acerbic stench of ammonia smacked her in the nose. She slowly opened her eyes to find that she was in a dimly lit room that resembled a small prison cell. As she lifted her head off the dirt, she moaned. She felt like she…
by Fiona Lama Twenty tables each with an occupied body bag were scattered across a holding room in the anatomical department. All of these bodies had been bequeathed to the hospital for medical study. The sign on each table was a list of student names who were to use that…
by Daniel Potter A pond, the depression where Many a Summer’s inflatable pools were laid, is now A sheet of silvery ice and a downy blanket of snow. Grass still green and Autumn leaves lie beneath As crystalline relics, sugared memories An inquisitive child Tosses aside both itchy, blue wool…
by Christy Bailes A Sonnet to Shakespeare If I be your mistress, hand me the sun; let my red lips leave a kiss on your skin. If I be snow, touch my sweet cherry breasts, crisp delicacies for you to taste. If wires be rough on your scratchy face; let…
by Mariah Rackliff There is a battle in my head. Daily filling me with dread. I hear a voice say, “Let me in!” “No!” Says another. “I win!” “I’m depression, I think I’ll stay. How long the visit? I can’t say.” “Come closer dear, now just lie down.” I oblige,…
by Christy Bailes Drought-rain slips off the predator until five-hundred wet pounds make him stand ground, spread like a picked-apart fan. Yellow beads turn his oily, spiked head, as I fly past, sweating ocean salt; it runs like interrupted feathers pulled from God’s washing machine, that dries now in cellophane…
by Amber Box I will deceive you So turn away where the steam of my breath cannot be seen I am wicked You are mortal The shards of glass from your own wreckage Feed my poison Injected into your veins, the ghost of yourself Your treacherous thoughts are only the…
by Jo-Anne Lucas I’m sorry but we have filled the position…. I’m sorry but you are not my type…. I’m sorry but you are no longer welcome here…. It sucks It stings It scorns I’m sorry but I already have a job…. I’m sorry but I am seeing someone…. I’m…
by Christy Bailes My drywall ears shook from French mumblings, like a Mass without God, continuing until her lips tasted coffee with hidden crumblings that replaced church talk with asylum laughter, so long, I bore a cross in my texture, waiting for God to shake religion on her head, but…