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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.


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

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.…

Chatroulette

Hilary Vaughn Dobel

Ghost of my own design, was it your / gloved hands tracing out my spine the night / I lied my way into the ER, hoping / to be touched?

Three Fictions

W. Todd Kaneko

It’s late on a Saturday night and Metalhead is at some kid’s basement party. The kid got the new Slayer album that afternoon and has it blaring because his parents are not home. Rockgod holds both hands up in the air like he is prey for bandits, but the rest of his body convulses, his head shaking back and forth, up and down and windmilling along with the drum beat. Metalhead laughs and then there is a body careening into him, pushing him into another kid who is jumping and shimmying against the wall because heavy metal is the stuff that binds kids together, the fray that keeps their blood inside them. When Metalhead’s sister has her friends over, they dance in the living room to Madonna or Culture Club while his father complains that the music is too loud. Metalhead can feel the guitar in his teeth, can feel the speakers’ rumble deep in his chest.

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

From the Archives

Letter from Athens, GA

Maggie Colvett

So much goes on without it baffles every time I begin. I read, I go walking. I take long routes past the elementary school, the fidgety, nebulous line at the crosswalk and the swingsets quaking and singing.

Interview with 2012 Barthelme Prize Winner Josie Sigler

Josie Sigler

"And what does being safe mean? (Besides having to practically get naked to be allowed to get on a plane? Besides dropping bombs?)"...

infinite wop (for Biz Markie’s “Alone Again” and Jodie Foster in Contact)

Sheila Maldonado

I am OK to go / into another / dimension / a vision of / vast idiocy / and solitude / release it / through my / otherly abled limbs

The World Turned

Alex Lemon

Slower & slower & then, for one/ Whole month, it spun so fast/ It was impossible to be jealous/ Or afraid or lost. Pants flew/ Off of strangers. Lapdogs floated/ Away, zigzagging across/ The sky like balloons.

From the Blog

On Violence

$138,000 into the story, there is nowhere else to go. I spent my twenty-seventh year typing letters of application, the nerves in each hand wrecked by…

On Shame

156,000 into the story, the room is empty.   The man I have started dating listens to my stories of how the dinners at the American Academy would unfold,…