Not For Profit/For Prophecy

3 Poems & An Interview With Poet Amee Nassrene Broumand

The Sandpipers


It’s time for a ghost story—now,

while opalescent giants, dark-robed, stride

over us, hair blazing with the night

to come—

they imagine themselves

masked, bejeweled, descending

to the asylum window. The inmate’s lament—


They came in the night and stole my head.

What did they do with it? My old green head. Continue reading “3 Poems & An Interview With Poet Amee Nassrene Broumand”

4 Poems by Joseph Ridgwell

Britain’s Most Wanted


It was while opening a package from the States

That it happened

The package contained the artwork to my latest novel

Burrito Deluxe

By Calif’s finest

Jose Arroyo

Holed up and rolling with the punches

East of East LA

The artwork was perfect for

The novel and nobody but Arroyo could’ve come up with it


But as I stood there admiring the creation

Britain’s Most Wanted

Came on the television

A list and faces of UK’s most wanted criminals

And the shock when I heard the name

And looked up

And there on my television

In High Definition

Was the hero of my novel

The inspiration and catalyst to

Everything that had happened

On our great Mexican adventure

The man who once said the creation of a myth

Was the only thing he was interested in

And that if you join them, you will always be at odds with them

And everything they stand for

And there he was on the run

Still running free

And laughing at the sun

Long may he run. Continue reading “4 Poems by Joseph Ridgwell”

‘Just Pull It Out’ by Peter Jordan

Just Pull It Out


The doctor was getting younger, by the minute. And I kept telling him I recognized him from somewhere.

The more I sucked on the gas the more I knew him, and the younger he got. When I’d first come in he was middle-aged. Now he was early twenties. We’d shared an experience together, we were good mates, didn’t he know that?

There was sweat on his forehead, his top lip.

He looked to the nurse. ‘We need to call a surgeon.’ Continue reading “‘Just Pull It Out’ by Peter Jordan”

3 Poems by Rob Plath

bloody phantom planet


ghosts aren’t


or made of strange



look around


every occupied





ghosts are


of meat Continue reading “3 Poems by Rob Plath”

3 Poems by Patrick Williams

The Greatest Critical Apparatus


Can public imagination,

not public



realize explosions


are rewarding

for survival? Continue reading “3 Poems by Patrick Williams”

‘my body is not my body’ by Nadia Gerassimenko

my body is not my body


when i’m held mouth wide open, blood oozing, dreading your extraction of part of my body. i’m only six. i’m not asleep. i never forgot.

i’m eighteen. adult, or so they say. part of my body breaks so more space is filled with you & all you carry. it hurts. in retrospect, it always hurt. it always will. Continue reading “‘my body is not my body’ by Nadia Gerassimenko”

5 Poems by Rus Khomutoff

Untitled (for Andre Breton)


Nostalgic sentiments and new wave nocturnes

intersecting in a normal chaos of life

an hourglass of neglected affinities

idols of saturated phenomena

night of filth, night of flowers

the aporia of revelation Continue reading “5 Poems by Rus Khomutoff”

2 Poems by Tahnee Flaws

A Critique on the Self-Portrait


I am alone now,

Seven years from the girl

I used to be.


The last clear identity

Known to my shaking heart Continue reading “2 Poems by Tahnee Flaws”

The Pool by Orawan Cassidy

The Pool


The water in the pool

was not the same blue

when summer faded.


Colors of autumn

was a confusion–

when green became brown.


Waves of the wind,

Reflection of emotion,

unable to be translated. Continue reading “The Pool by Orawan Cassidy”

3 Poems by Gary Carr

An Expenditure of Munitions


Twenty-seven orphans

cleaning and oiling,

polishing up their rifles. Continue reading “3 Poems by Gary Carr”

‘Jem’ by Kate Jones



‘Bet I can climb to the top’, Jem Mason says, round blue eyes burning in a sun-touched, freckled face. We all stare up at the roof of the almost finished house.

‘No way,’ Cory Sullivan says.

‘Bet you three strawberry laces I can,’ Jem says, already pacing towards the gates of the building site.

The bet was on. Continue reading “‘Jem’ by Kate Jones”

An Interview with Helen McClory

Helen McClory is a Scottish writer whose stories are multi-faceted gems, filled with atmosphere, mystery, and vivid detail. I discovered her work through Twitter and instantly loved it. Her flash fiction is collected in On the Edges of Vision, and you can read some of the pieces at her blog, Schietree. Her first novel, Flesh of the Peach, is forthcoming this year. McClory was kind enough to answer some of my questions. In our discussion, we talk about gender, Sylvia Plath, unlikable women, and much more.

– Caitlin
Nonfiction Editor of Burning House Press


Helen, thank you so much for taking the time to answer my questions. I am such a fan of your writing, and I’m so excited to have this discussion with you. First, I would just like to ask you some general questions about life and writing.

What are you currently reading? What made you want to read it?

I’m currently reading Alan Garner’s The Stone Book Quartet, a book ostensibly for children (like most of his work) that is composed of economical, brilliant sentences weighted with folkloric meaning. I loved his writing as a child myself and wanted to revisit his work (though I don’t think I ever read this one) because I’m writing a sort of fantasy/folklore novel myself and thought I’d look to one of the masters of the form.

Continue reading “An Interview with Helen McClory”

2 Poems by Ben Williams

Island Nation


I stood there and watched

the scowling coast

as rocks became

as liver spots

and waves passed


grey England’s changing

faces: foam and roar


and formed

new morning’s

golden desolate shore. Continue reading “2 Poems by Ben Williams”

2 Poems & 2 Flash Fictions by Aina Izzah

Less Than Human


Get lost,

Less human than me,

I’ll go to sleep,

In thousands of movements,

Under the eyes of heaven,

Amounts to devils I can’t see,


I could pray,

For a life more humane,

I should cry,

Hands stained with sin,

And get on running,

To the East, Continue reading “2 Poems & 2 Flash Fictions by Aina Izzah”

2 Poems by C. R. Resetarits

My Eyes


My eyes are vexed

not from crying

but from the tally

of sins unwept,

allowed to swell

in dull, blue renderings

just below the surface

of head and heart,

like a tattoo of tears or

a debris dammed creek,

symbols of damage

past the point of

erasure or release. Continue reading “2 Poems by C. R. Resetarits”

3 Prose Poems by Howie Good

Dirge of the Dying Year


My first thought was, “Run!” Others chose suicide. Soon I was stumbling around like the bad kids who huff glue. Mothers dumped raw meat out into the street in protest. Sirens began to woo-who, woo-who. I was in a headspace that was pricked with stars I couldn’t identify, 50 by last count and all of them always promising to return to their wandering orbits. Now what do we do? There’s just too much in the workings of the world that’s hidden and unknowable, even by a person with an education. And that person was standing where the bullets began to rain into the limousine. We’re living in a boisterous age. Velocity is advancing everywhere, the walls covered in flames and the flames behaving in ways no one thought possible. I’m afraid of human beings. We run things in the forest while the wolf isn’t around. Eyes that don’t want to close at all times ruin everything, pretty much every word. The sadness will last forever. I can’t remember now why I ever thought it wouldn’t. Continue reading “3 Prose Poems by Howie Good”

3 Stories by Rob True

Magpies, Re-runs and Lost Time


Carl sat there, on the sofa, mesmerised by the sound of magpies. Their clicking calls like rattle clackers at a football match in the old days. He watched them swoop and dive, attacking the screaming songbirds, relentless egg raids one after another. Thieving and hunting, blue, black and white blurs. That clicking noise, against the midday silence, soothed him into magic trance. Turning his attention back to the TV playing an episode of Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em, he grinned at Frank annoying some poor bastard in a shop. But as Frank nervously caused another calamity, something went wrong with the telly. The screen didn’t look right. Carl focused, squinting and, as the soft fuzz sharpened, he realised he was looking at the skirting in a corner of the room. Continue reading “3 Stories by Rob True”

‘Walking Towards Death’ – 5 Essays on Mortality by Arathi Devandran

Part 3: ‘Discussing Death’

My first memory of death is linked to a man I never knew. My mother’s father died of a heart attack before I was born; the irony is that I know more about his death than I do about his life.

The entirety of the man has been reduced to a single black-and-white obituary photograph that my mother faithfully keeps at her prayer altar. Then, there are the stories. The stories of what an influence he was in my mother’s life, how he used to work with the British Royal Navy (this was in the 1940s and 1950s, in a pre-independent Singapore that seems as much of a myth as my late grandfather), and of course, the stories about how he died, and how that changed his entire family’s life.

It is funny, what death does. It slowly morphs to form the central narrative of a person’s life, as if only through death did his life gain meaning and importance and weight.

Continue reading “‘Walking Towards Death’ – 5 Essays on Mortality by Arathi Devandran”

2 Poems by Christopher Iacono



The half-suns laid in brick —

tan curves on a red face —

close in on each other

but never touch.


They will not come together

to brighten the sky.

They will not kiss your face

with rays of light.


Continue reading “2 Poems by Christopher Iacono”

The Arsonist Magazine – Coming Soon

The Arsonist Magazine edition 01 – featuring flammable materials from 30 international writers artists photographers – Coming Soon

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