Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola. Her sonnets and other poetry have been featured in Anti-Heroin Chic, Murmur Journal, Occulum, Faded Out, Moonchild Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Fourth & Sycamore, Varnish Journal and many other publications. She’s currently constructing a poetry dollhouse chapbook entitled Pink Plastic House: Three Stories of Sonnets. Babydoll I’m baptized […]

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The First Matriarch

H. E. Riddleton‘s life is synonymous with writing. She is the curious kind, an Alice of sorts and is in constant sought of subject. She is a current editorial staff for her college’s literary magazine: TCC South’s Script and has forthcoming fall publications in The Ibis Head Review and The Light Ekphrastic. The First Matriarch […]

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at the foot of a carved wood desk

Trevor Root is a poet in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His work is published or forthcoming in :lexicon Journal and Eunoia Review. at the foot of a carved wood desk mother this building my business   and here in my ginger ale starving   our metaphysics fit snuggly to salt rims  on all whims my morning moves drunkenly  in sync […]

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Bad Hair Day

Fred Pollack is the author of two book-length narrative poems, THE ADVENTURE and HAPPINESS, both published by Story Line Press and a collection of shorter poems, A POVERTY OF WORDS, 2015 from Prolific Press. Another collection, LANDSCAPE WITH MUTANT, is set to be published by Smokestack Books (UK), 2018. He has appeared in Hudson Review, […]

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Working In Mother’s Garden

Cameron Morse taught and studied in China. Diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2014, he is currently a third-year MFA candidate at UMKC and lives with his wife, Lili, in Blue Springs, Missouri. His poems have been or will be published in over 50 different magazines, including New Letters, pamplemousse, Fourth & Sycamore and TYPO. […]

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Dream Sense

I dream of missing planes, my mother’s ghost, dressed in cold weather clothes. We are in my grandfather’s closet, which, in the dream is a ballroom fallen into disrepair. I need to tell her she is dead, but when I ask if she wants me to be honest, she says: “Not if it’s something I […]

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go outside and listen

“I’m sad,” I tell her, looking for analog in a world of constant digital connection. “I know,” she said, “you used to write great letters, too, and you know a lot of people, but you just need your roots.” “Go outside and listen,” my mother advises. Outside, I see all the life looking for hands, all the […]

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