by Maria Claire Leng
I hold the cloudy, dark plum, heavy in anticipation, weak from its own weight and firm skin. My lips surround it, privately tasting the sweet juice. I pull back dripping, wiping my chin, and watch the orange, soft golden, brown flesh expose. The skin now …
by Yedidah Glass
I had been seeing Megan for approximately five months, but I had known her my entire life. I never enjoyed our meetings. They certainly could not be categorized as something as romantic as a rendezvous or as mercantile as a transaction. Although, I was attempting …
by Jeff Barker
The man entered the small, brightly lit café and quietly sat down in a high-backed vinyl-upholstered booth. The wire caged clock over the door drew the man’s attention. Why such an institutionalesque clock in a diner? It was 3:12 a.m. The café’s latest and only …
reviewed by James Hall
James Hall reviews Mark Doty's Sweet Machine, the author's latest collection of poetry, and is filled with an overwhelming urge to shop.