The Blog

Trickle Down

D.A. Powell

we were poor

when I lived

with the whore

and the florist

poorest

at the end

of the month

and the tricks

Grady Chambers

I’d been on this road before. Last year lit with wildflowers,

this year the hills stripped bare, baked by sun. It spills out

of Los Angeles like a long black tongue, then nothing

for 500 miles, just dust and shadows of cattle-sheds past towns

Daniel Khalastchi

for H. N.

To be inside the lush

of life I climb alive a tree

outside the guarded rise

of hospital where you receive

your treatment. Attached against

my back I have a crate of caf-

Olivia Cronk

Nodding off in front of a comicbook robin stretched across several panels, Darius upgazes me in my fantasy lake dress.

I am completely desired and completely alien

I have dragged my child along my knee while tracing letters on my knee

I have felt final skin in the tall grass of pretend

yellow spilled across

Molly Minturn

So I’ve done it now

I am the girl alone in the woods.

The horse ran away

and I didn’t cry.

I can play Beethoven loud as I want,

mournful Beethoven to deaf trees.

I like the way