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Volume 3
Salutations, Toad-Friends! When we dubbed our last issue “The Year of the Toad” we had no idea that Library Journal would officially recognize us as one of the ten best literary journals of the year. Since this international award, we’ve been rolling in subscriptions from savvy librarians across the land. Usually genius goes unnoticed, but…
I used to be a teen, just like everybody else over a certain age (specifically nineteen), and I admit that I sometimes got bored because I hadn’t yet filled my head with great poetry from all over the world and otherwise developed the inner resources which I enjoy today as I sit here and compose…
6 learning that stretch marks are a fact for me unintentional and intentional tearing of the dermis. xe was weary of being put in situations where xe was forced to consider xyr womb from a present tense perspective. lineage and linearity put xem in such situations. often, men on the street would say snide things…
For R.G. Annabelle is a problem with no solution. She craves what is bad, wrong, unhealthy, and awful. She goes online to chat with others about their unspeakable cravings. She now craves this talk. It’s another bad habit. Problem, no solution. Only in the case of online chat, it is no longer unspeakable. Everyone there…
After a clinical assessment later that evening the chief wept into his napkin, curiously rueful, while his wife washed the elephants. Perhaps this was not the marriage we had originally discovered— delicate and moving, now merely quirky (though nonetheless skillfully rendered). Thus we remember their beginnings bagging polar bears and camping along the glazed, sacred…
As an unpublished poet, my being an artist is still most fulfillingly defined by my not being anything else. I bartend and wait tables and float financially. I make just enough to get by, but never so much as to threaten to overshadow the payday I determinedly believe writing holds for me. My conviction runs…
Larvae Larvae of ordinary genius: island alone dissolved in salt The Cry of the Newborn The cry of the newborn from an ancestral nothingness bound to the wall of eternity with the hair of lost centaurs On the Hill The thought rolls down the hill sharp waves spit it out from the aching ground This…