Anthony Lusardi

     on a dead deer the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting. an eye fixed on a sea of green beeches. only one of your antlers unbroken. pointing up to the mountains. does your herd still...

Sophie Kearing

    hay sometimes i miss those carefree days of driving around listening to crucial conflict and fucking in funeral homes so i dream of you calling my name in an airport   Sophie Kearing is a writer of stabby words but also warm wishes. Her work has...

Alison Jones

    Oracles Each year I am looking for signs, a white pebble, a dropped feather, shy shadow’s shape, red thread burning, how the beans fall in bright patterns, a walnut’s voyage in a silver bowl, sailing a birthday candle through night waters. I must hold...

Nigel King

    KILNER BANK Convolvulus strangles cow parsley and nightshade. Its pure white trumpets plead: Forgive us! Look how lovely we are! Behind the birch trees the hum of industry is punctured by the staccato clack of squabbling magpies. Off the track there’s an...

Eve Chancellor

    Payday Mid-afternoon and the streets smell of petrichor; people spilling out of pubs, crowding to smoke cigs in the early spring sunshine. I am alone, again. All my friends live thousands of miles away. I am closer to the people who are not near me...