Stephanie Gayle

The workshop machinery pulsed chugachugachuga. Two-penny nails danced on the draft table. I was alone in the shop. The boys had left hours ago. They’d called, “Hey Kate, why not knock off and come to Grady’s?” but I’d refused. They…

Scene Two

Margo Berdeshevsky

In another garden, a poet’s brother had called the lark a fist of blood & feathers; she couldn’t tell me that. A shaman, failed, o my poor brother, she whispered for me to hear. Low light had sprawled on feathers…

weekend-readsNever Sleep; Dear Empty Page,

Andrew Grace

Never Sleep Why shouldn’t it begin at midnight? In this dark room: a pen, a page, water, a television in its wreath of pain, a distance all around me like a sea in that it roils and stays still, waves…

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