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November 3, 2017 | Poetry

Four Poems

Mitchell Glazier

It’s bronzy August and I need this to be all over. / Most of my poems are shaped like crows, / so what’s eating you?

Four Poems photo
Three Poems photo

November 2, 2017 | Poetry

Three Poems

Talia Flores

A man spills a red solo cup down my shirt like hands. Hands bury in my skin. The speakers bury in my skin. I have never felt farther from the sky, or from my own spit.

Two Poems photo

November 1, 2017 | Poetry

Two Poems

Muriel Leung

The pinwheels of my mourning, having moved to a windless town.

Rarely do I think of death while gnawing the bottom of a vanilla cone.

Halloween II photo

October 31, 2017 | Fiction

Halloween II

Elizabeth Ellen

I smile into the mirror. There is lipstick on my front teeth. I don’t rub it off.