Featured

Flash Fiction
Emmaleene Leahy
There’s a new security guard on tonight. I might get in. I slam my fist against the glass. “Little pig, little pig, let me in.” He scratches at his short beard and takes a few steps towards me, then turns and stares at...

Short Fiction
Garreth Keating
On a dripping dirty day Miss Cummins was fighting for control of the bodies and souls of 1b and wondering if these bodies and souls were worth the fight. They were a pack of shitheads if the truth be told and...

Poetry
Peter O’Neill
You the paper Venus, Madonna of the celibates Who kneel before you To offer up their prayers. . In amongst the tin of beans, The sliced pans and the threadbare Carpets, some of your realm, Where you are our elixir. . On the stairs of the bedsits With their odour of dead males, Know...

Poetry
Dan Riley
Philip burrows deep into his cavernous nostril, his long cockled nobbly finger beneath translucent anaemic skullskin. He’s pitched himself at 110° 20° behind the 90° Elizabeth iron-faced, straight ahead, unaware of her busy husband. . Harry sits beside his very own bride to be. They have both discovered a way into one...

Poetry
Laurence Vougiouklakis
MY DILETTANTE . You ask me who she is, for the name of this, my, Dilettante. Licensed by petulance, her keen eyelashes Seem, especially at night, to assume the coherence Of algebras, trigonometries. Her name is Fortunata, harbinger of such symphonies The likes of which You’ve never heard; rejoice! rejoice! For right...

Poetry
Peter O’Neill
For Wilkys Weinhardt, after Augusto Dos Anjos . Insane synthesis of aural pyrotechnics and putrid content needed; Yet sadly, and strangely, lacking here...

Poetry
Ephraim Gast
Blue’s black rags Semaphore me in the breeze, And I don’t know how to reply. Blue’s a windy picardy third, Only unhappy—what should I do About Blue? A greek chorus Of horror follows us all about, Attune to the happenings, But what can they tell me about Blue? There’s commotion in the...

Poetry
Paul Tristram
I awake upside down and giddy, again. Head upon the sticky carpet With my body sloping up At an insane angle Onto the settee. I gag, cough and spit something Wet sponge textured and ashtray tasting As far away from me as I can manage. Twist, fall and pull myself...

Poetry
Rachel Coventry
WITCHING . My bad soul stayed back Clinging to your clothes like smoke Catching in your throat Moving in peripheral vision Sometimes a demon grinning In your vitreous humor. . In its absence I developed A fondness for charity shopping Rummaging through piles Of soiled sweaters with balling, Picking them up with stiff fingers Sniffing from...