Poetry
Anything So Utterly Destroyed
What would have been my right hand—
delicate fingers discolored a bit,
a ghost of a ring, a seam at the wrist—
Elizabeth R. McClellan
October 12, 2010
Poetry
Poetry
Love’s Ecology
I have been free
but didn’t know myself.
I won’t be free again, but now I know
Rose Lemberg
October 12, 2010
Poetry
Shweta Narayan
September 13, 2010
Poetry
The Chorus of Dead Girls
Winter sticks
between our ribs:
lightless shale, bayonets of ice
and last September’s briars.
JoSelle Vanderhooft
September 13, 2010
Poetry
C.S.E. Cooney
August 15, 2010
Poetry
Eclipse
Ghost flesh sears easily, like the skin of xeroderms.
This is why so few hauntings take place at noon.
Robert Borski
July 8, 2010
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