The Onyx Orb

Carolina Isabel Marcos Garza

There’s a something that is harbored
under the floor of my being.
I first spotted it some years back.
Finally, I think I understand it.
But this does not mean
in any way
that we have reached an alliance.


I try tactics of negotiation.
If you let me go on a date night with my boyfriend

I’ll let you have twelve hours of sleep.

If you let me eat […]

The Onyx Orb2021-01-07T22:28:23+00:00

The Familiarity of Breakage

Dariana Guerrero

In transit
             body suspended
in motion—a standstill.
In a linear pattern,
I transcend time or space;
the dilapidated buildings screech past,
become etchings of a life, once inhabited,
by people, once inhabited,
and I remember the last time
my body—was a house,
broken, in need of repair,
shards of glass,
sticking out
of the knobs of my bones.
The broken is familiar.
It is
the […]

The Familiarity of Breakage2021-01-07T22:28:18+00:00

Take Two, They’re Big

Robert Beveridge

By the time it gets to you, the river
is nothing more than a muddy creek.
That most of the time isn’t
a problem. But then you get the out-
of-season rain, the snowmelt,
the kids who chase mallards,
catch walleye to sell to the local
sushi restaurant. The clock ticks
down, the burble becomes a rush,
and all the drunks who live
under the bridge are washed
into the kind of lake that has

Take Two, They’re Big2021-01-07T22:28:12+00:00


Ann M. Lawrence

I tried to hold on to the moment
before wrinkles developed on fingers,
wrists, toes. No one told me before
you were born, I was completely unaware
the lines would be missing.
The smooth skin barren
of the marks age, time, life will map
on your small body, but I missed it. One day
they were there, marring each joint.
In the blackout, lasting for days, I allowed myself
in the dark, sitting by your side, to run […]



Maureen Sherbondy

The student mentions her issue with run-offs. I picture storm water finding an exit from
the streets. Hog waste sneaking into a family well. Finally, I read her essay and see what she
means. Black letters have escaped the page’s margins, have fled from format and rectangular

“How do I keep them here?” she asks.

I suggest a lasso, rounding words up like cattle.

She shakes her head, says, “I’m no good at throwing and looping.”

Handing her a plastic bowl, I say, “Hold the Tupperware at the edge of the printer.”



Frederick Pollack

Town ignored by a highway
in that part of the country
(most of it) that went directly,
long since, from frontier to boonies.
Great rotting Victorians,
some rooming houses still among them.
At least no one asks if I’m “churched.”
I also wheezing, blimp-like, pale,
perhaps armed, can’t be entirely alien;
although someday they’ll ask,
inventing strangers where they can’t be found.
Meanwhile, in the boarded street
and crowded bars we carom off each other,
although we never touch. When was it
such places came to strike me as
creativogenic? When I lost
those address cards that rose and fell
like days, with a sort of resistance,
a pleasing […]


Reading Jack London on W. 137th St.

Matthew Dischner

Once, I stood on the banks of the Yukon
in the shadow of the Dalton Highway,
my father and I in holy silence
trying and failing to grasp the river’s
vast serenity,
nature’s border, the northern edge
of the civilized world.
Beyond, the Brooks Range
and the interior.

Today, I ate frozen lamb vindaloo
from Trader Joe’s.
The first bite was undercooked,
requiring another minute in the microwave.

About the Author

A disciple of the experimental humanities and freelance historian, Matthew Dischner’s writings mix his passion for poetry, deep historical knowledge, and obsession with the natural […]

Reading Jack London on W. 137th St.2021-01-07T22:27:47+00:00

Reading Jack London in the break room of the Trader Joe’s on 72nd and Broadway

Matthew Dischner

It is 10° F and my mustache is frozen,
exhaled condensation frosting my upper lip,
but still my jacket is undone
and I’m wearing shorts.
My life is white noise;
a steady howling of fans,
the scraping of ice on aluminum,
and my own growled exasperations
as I throw around 40 lb. boxes
of Mandarin orange chicken.

About the Author

A disciple of the experimental humanities and freelance historian, Matthew Dischner’s writings mix his passion for poetry, deep historical knowledge, and obsession with the natural world. A graduate of NYU’s recently transformed Draper […]

Reading Jack London in the break room of the Trader Joe’s on 72nd and Broadway2021-01-07T22:27:39+00:00

Quiz on Evening Sun

J. Marcus Weekley


Reason for being on Earth________________




4. Do you ever get tired of being alive?

a). Truth
b). False




4.  When you get to the end of your life, you see a building shaped like the Guggenheim Museum. If you haven’t been to the Guggenheim (pronounced Goo-Gen-Hime) Museum, stop and look it up on your phone right now. I’ll wait. Do you see how that building would look at the end of your life? Okay, now, you walk in, stare up from the bottom floor and see birds, hundreds […]

Quiz on Evening Sun2021-01-07T22:27:33+00:00

On the Octopus vulgaris of the Delphic Trench

Colin Bredenberg

The common octopus is renowned for its impressive intelligence. For instance, Octopus vulgaris has been observed in captivity to flatten itself and squeeze from its tank, sometimes traveling several meters through open air, in order to hunt fish in adjacent containers [1]. There are reports of puzzle- solving behavior [2], play [3], and long-term memory formation [4] in controlled experiments. In the wild, octopi have been observed engaging in complicated hunting tactics, employing the chromatophore pigment cells in their skin for both camouflage [5] and for communication during pack hunts [6]. On […]

On the Octopus vulgaris of the Delphic Trench2021-01-07T22:27:23+00:00
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