Prose & Cons

By Amanda Livingston Hi, I’m Taylor. Yes. Yes, I would love to! Yes, I can hang out Saturday night! I love horror movies. I’m free…

by Gillian Wenzel Poetry is a train Gathering from the ghettos The gangs the prisons and the households of xanax Stuck in the quicksand, the…

By Samantha Brodsky I’ve been told I resemble my Grandma Norma, her dark, fierce eyes the shape of fat almonds, her oval face thin and…

By Jodi Silberstein It’s a room down the stairs and second door on the left. People set up chairs while the smell of coffee swirls…

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said sucking in a breath, lips quivering as though he was sipping on the frosty night air that…

She sat down on the bench in the subway station and rubbed at her calves. Traveling to the city had made her exhausted, and the…

I greet my mat My soul The things that pour out of me Opening each pore Finding tears sometimes I take shape Yoga Is the…

you won’ a town to go to but not to be in. you won’ get yer hands round’ her neck. you won’ be ditched out…

Sometimes I sit on the moon, who also sits, but in the anesthetic space of time, and I take off my rose-colored glasses when I…

The great fallen magnificent in their death throes; flimsy beacons of a cold decay. The retreat of green against the coming of the frost. A…