Not For Profit/For Prophecy



In Autochrome — James Pate

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Stockbroker, Get Me Money— Tucker Lieberman

Tucker Lieberman is the author of Painting Dragons and Bad Fire. His poems have recently appeared in Marias at Sampaguitas, Little Dog, The Conclusion, Esthetic Apostle, Déraciné, and Defenestration. He and his husband live in Bogotá, Colombia. Twitter: @tuckerlieberman

Addresses form a line, (Preferably in customary urethral fashion) — Lee Levinson

Lee Levinson lives in Jersey City. He tweets @schlock_jaw

Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alise Found There [as dutifully noted in dispatch correspondences with Empress Chang’e by her humble servant Haigha, Sc.D., Divinitatis, Philosophiae, Très honorable avec félicitations du jury] — Sean Fraser

Continue reading “Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alise Found There [as dutifully noted in dispatch correspondences with Empress Chang’e by her humble servant Haigha, Sc.D., Divinitatis, Philosophiae, Très honorable avec félicitations du jury] — Sean Fraser”

Letter To My Niece Young Enough To Leave, Awaiting A Reply — Bryce Jones

Bryce Jones is a former child comedian. Email him at if you would like to be pen pals.


Shane Jesse Christmass is the author of the novels, Yeezus In Furs (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2018), Napalm Recipe: Volume One (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2017), Police Force As A Corrupt Breeze (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2016) and Acid Shottas (The Ledatape Organisation, 2014). He was a member of the band Mattress Grave, and is currently a member in Snake Milker. An archive of his writing/artwork/music can be found at

To the god below the layers — Sean Kilpatrick

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Diptych — James Knight & Susan M Omand

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Untitled — [x]

*Editor’s Note: biographical data withheld at author’s request.

Find [x] at &

Universe of No Brutalism — Mike Corrao

Mike Corrao is the author of Man, Oh Man (Orson’s Publishing) and Gut Text (11:11 Press). His work has been featured in publications such as 3:AM, Always Crashing, The Collagist, and The Portland Review. He lives in Minneapolis where he earned his B.A. in film and English literature at the University of Minnesota. Learn more at &

The desert responds to “Poems to be found in the desert” – Tony Messenger

Continue reading “The desert responds to “Poems to be found in the desert” – Tony Messenger”

[Closing Spells] by Jane Fleming




[closing spells]


My mother said that I should bathe in oatmeal

So I do

thick baths gray with powder, sticking in clumps of snow

and I dip in so that I no longer itch

or bleed

Continue reading “[Closing Spells] by Jane Fleming”

A Broken Mirror – Kylie Supski


A Broken Mirror


DNA smeared

over a broken



there was no


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Two Poems by Brynn Downing



Rhode Island, 1892

For Mercy Lena Brown


After you die, Lena, you will freeze

until the neighbors unearth you

open your chest, your breasts


split to either side. In your heart:

blood–frozen. Your lungs, shaped like wings,

will yield once, collapse, and won’t rise.


Continue reading “Two Poems by Brynn Downing”

Two Poems by Theresa Sullivan






When nights steal in I paint

a house filling with water.


 I make the exit transparent,

front door gray and ghostly beneath


seawater creeping past the baseboards,

sloshing over the table,

Continue reading “Two Poems by Theresa Sullivan”

Learning to write again – Megan Merchant



Learning to write again.


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Three Poems by Judith Roney



I See My House, My Field

after Marianne Boruch


My son lives there now, in his winter

like a husky dog burrows in snow.


Most of the rooms (yes, I can see them from Florida)

are muted by cold, and the furniture


is still the maple my mother bought the year

she had her affair with my father.


Continue reading “Three Poems by Judith Roney”

A Series of Poems by Cynthia Cruz




“Writing also means not speaking. Keeping silent.” M.D.,Writing.

 MD is mute. She throws her voice into the text and there, her voice, resides. There, in the book, we hear her screams, we hear her weeping. But alone, in her giant white mansion, she speaks to no one. She paces, endlessly, the only sound, the sound of flies and death emanating from within the cracked walls.

Continue reading “A Series of Poems by Cynthia Cruz”

Two Poems by Lucy Whitehead



I know how to be a beetle stranded on its back,

a moth pinned flat inside a frame, a wildflower

pressed between the pages of a book, a petroglyph,

a fragment of my former self, a rock, a photograph.

Continue reading “Two Poems by Lucy Whitehead”

Two Poems by Nicodemus Nicoludis



Untitled [Elegy For the Memory of a Relationship]


It isn’t the space

the closeness of knowing

somebody so well

we hear their heartbeat

inside ours,

or the aperture of life

squinting one morning at a time,

but I freeze right there,

Continue reading “Two Poems by Nicodemus Nicoludis”

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