About

Our room grew a hole when the sky landed by our heads and, when meteorite met bed of linen taut with our stereotypical tensions, the...

Autumn is the season of falling leaves childhood is a season of losing teeth The loss of the first incisors starts at the dissolving of...

The pavement was dry, February grey —enough traction for the drunk to correct his advance left In physio, I took care of the whiplash but...

Free Verse “But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul.” ― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein Splintered from commonwealth of life we...

Free verse How the cerebellum spills over the shiny panes reflecting the sky, the world in freehand sketching transparent refractions of...

Locking eyes with a perched crow is a transference of bird’s-eye-view, the binocular reconciling of separate frames in one image, side...

Bandaids are my tales of chaos on playgrounds, the dermal terrain of nicks and scratches donned in battle with objects I collide, a...

The bridge tower vaults and church spire hangs under the day moon conversing on altitude with steel-boned views bridge cables and cross...

The pupils are ghost containment units even the sun cannot see oxygen eaten up by smoke or love evaporate into thin air. Disappearance is...

When I passed the lemonade stand, I passed my childhood, late August on the sidewalk, next to the church with humble interior walls,...

Hands in motion smudge surfaces unforgiving of polish We groove and light life’s glass of shifting images with our living fingerprints...

Somehow a patch of sunflowers bloomed from the street corner — a concrete wedge of dog waste baggies, trash from the cannabis shop and...

Tendrils reclaim a wall of their own, sun beggars up the chain link locking small climates of beauty in frame. The meadow pops up in...

Our lines connecting points of light orchestrate a puppetry of constellations chalking our wish trajectories in the sky Our hopes are a...

Memory is a basement carpeted in orange and brown, electronics warm, vinyl cords in rainbow of 7 colours 7 notes in analog polyphony...

Becoming a robot is trading out each rogue bleeding heart, until it is mechanized with valves and fittings too tight for art or for...

Standard-issue funeral option tombstones are concrete slabs like ashes in a cardboard box, aggregate mixtures of concrete sprawl, a...

Free verse Why do we share our art but for the company of like minds through words that compass our awe, unlock human glimpses, calloused...

You can tell I’m a magpie by the pieces I carry: the magpie, a collector, a good-luck bird, full of words, hiding in patterns round...

Poetry by Jessica Lee McMillan In the mire of raincloud — this clouded over year — we missed the first blossoming of rhododendrons by the...