The bones remember more than flesh allows: Each rib a record of a whispered past,

I vowed to you I would stay wild knowing you loved my teeth  except when they chased other flesh

The afternoon we met, she joked about being a narcissist. It was one of the qualities that attracted me to her—a woman unaccompanied by the threat of permanence.

This language can't find anything that rhymes with orange.

He’s smaller than I expected. They always are. The stillness shrinks them. The room smells like lilies and furniture polish.

By Ángel Ruby Vásquez Angel Ruby Vasquez is a writer, actor, filmmaker, and poet-storyteller dedicated to the craft of inspirational creative writing. His work spans film, radio, fashion media, and education. He has worked as a camera assistant, public radio announcer, media director, educational facilitator, and substitute teacher.   Angel Ruby Vasquez es escritor, actor, cineasta y poeta-narrador, dedicado al arte de la escritura creativa inspiradora. Su trabajo abarca el c

Like a dry fallen leaf blown by

At dawn, I press my palms to cold glass, watching the corridor stretch like an empty sky. Charts flutter: life, pulse, breath; each tick of the clock heavier than the night.

The road bends, broken in places, mud clinging to tire treads. Storm debris waits like memory:

The air once full now slips away unseen, Each inhalation measured, frail, and slight. We mourn the quiet life that might have been.

Fifteen minutes till dismissal and I am on the top rung that says do not stand here because the wind has caught the banner over the playground

By Joe Karlovec Joe Karlovec is an interdisciplinary artist and writer based in Wilmington, North Carolina. His work explores the metaphysical power of vernacular architecture through its historical, mythological, and sociological context. He has spent the last 10 years developing a nomadic style studio while living in Ohio, Florida, South Carolina, and now North Carolina. Karlovec currently works as the Facilities Coordinator for a museum where he manages the preservation of

By Dawn Bratton Dawn Bratton lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she writes poetry and prose orbiting the image of eyes and theme of perception. During 2021 - 2023 she served as secretary and vice president on the board of directors for WordSwell ( wordswelljournal.org ). In 2023, she co-founded Moon Blossom Collective, an arts and wellbeing collective ( moonblossomcollective.org ). In 2025 she founded Karma for supporting the literary and arts communities ( karmafinan

By Matthew Minard It was early. The living room still dark except for the blue glow of the T.V., the heater wasn’t on yet. My dad in his recliner, controller in hand. Skyrim already running. A blanket pulled over my shoulders. The broken controller passed down to me. He shifted to sit on the floor with me. The hum of the Xbox 360, the click of his buttons, mine clicking too though nothing moved on screen. He stepped into a dungeon. I imagined I was the Scamp behind him, summ

By Joe Karlovec Joe Karlovec is an interdisciplinary artist and writer based in Wilmington, North Carolina. His work explores the metaphysical power of vernacular architecture through its historical, mythological, and sociological context. He has spent the last 10 years developing a nomadic style studio while living in Ohio, Florida, South Carolina, and now North Carolina. Karlovec currently works as the Facilities Coordinator for a museum where he manages the preservation of

Beneath endless sky, on a shoreline far away, a lonely blue-footed booby

Remember  the year you sat out the orbit around the sun? The year you hovered in space and all you wanted was to watch the planet

By Christine Sloan Stoddard Christine Stoddard is a multimedia creator and artist named one of Brooklyn Magazine’s Top 50 Most Fascinating People and Style Weekly’s Top 40 Under 40 of Richmond, VA. She co-hosts the comedy TV show “Don’t Mind If I Don’t” with Aaron Gold, and runs the YouTube channel Stoddard Says via her production company, Quail Bell. Her artwork, fiction, and poetry have been featured in the Queens Botanical Garden, the Portland Review, Ms. Magazine, So to S

I did it for her. She never got the chance to go, becoming a mother so young

Ice clacking branches in moonlit gusts deem this trudge conceivably lethal, but dim echoes of its crunching