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...

Shasta Hatter

      Empty Basket Driving down the boulevard, I see large trees decorated with pink and white blossoms, evergreens tower over houses, trees flourish with spring greenery. In front of a market, candles and balloons mark the site of a drive-by shooting....

Jayant Kashyap

      Winter’s (love) sequence— We are in the bath, your hands around my back, mine around yours— everything covered in a fog.   *   The hills white under snow, you somewhat warm in a cardigan, corduroy, boots pressing upon the cold earth....