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Night Moves

Ella Marilla

At 1am, 2am, the across-the-road-guy decides to start shooting stuff. Cans or nothing maybe. Ten shots each time. After each ten you think he's all out. After the first ten shots I wonder whether he's shooting our dog Snoopy—I guess he's said he would—but he wouldn't shoot Snoopy 1000 times, at least I doubt it. Sky says the guy told his landlord, the blueberry lady, that he would have been down in…


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

A-Side, B-Side

Dylan Brown

He had kept the bulk of his music library, which covered every genre from obscure Sub-Saharan drum tracks recorded on cell-phones to honey-tongued R&B to Norwegian black metal, in his parents' basement. It was the only place, he had argued, that could support the weight of it all.

Little Relics

Mark Wagenaar

& after the first course, your corsage flatlines Beautiful convulsions Then, it sprouts wings, thorns, claws its way up your arm to swallow you goosebump by goosebump

No More Magpies on My Windows: Four Poems

Liu Xia translated by Ming Di

At Night, By Myself                         —for Xiaobo life plays its bleak tunestedious, gloomydaylight without light a rice bowl drops on the floora…

Seasonal Without Spring: Summer

Andrés Cerpa

Was that season artery or vein? when the days stretched like Broadway, & the nights undid our shirts – the temperature so slight you could raise your arms in flight & feel nothing, the body as air. But there was also the need for hurt. And dusk: a ghost of a boy tempted to feel his weight, to put his palm to the depth, touch the pupil, the dead turbine of god’s one good cataracted eye.

From the Archives

Paddling in the Bloody Moat

Helen McClory

A flood takes no notice of the borders we construct between inside and out. Like Cassandra sitting in the kitchen sink at her window, the Willoweed family and servant Old Ives can do nothing but observe.

Casanova

Serhiy Zhadan transl. by Alan Zhukovski

When you greeted each other / your palms / like embers in cigarette stubs / red and hot / showed from your sleeves

Schisma and Prix Fixe

Lisa Nikolidakis

Schisma For ten euro, you’ll rest easy aboard Posidonia, the smoothest ship in all of Schisma. Happily we’ll sail to Kalydon, just twenty minutes across…

If My Disease Were an Animal, What Would It Be?

Joanne Jacobson

To be diagnosed with a rare disease is to have wildness pressed upon you. You are not exactly the secretive quarry that birders travel the world to add…

From the Blog

Dora Malech makes her entrance into experimental poetry

To “stet” is the act of making a textual change and then changing it back and so on and so forth. In the spirit of “stetting,” Stet also acts as…

You Are Here: An Interview with Eduardo Portillo

“When I built my first stretcher, it was like finding a big surprise. It let me reinforce what I had been doing with painting, which was playing around…