Gregory Luce

428 posts

and

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The Cancer Fairy by Judith Swann

It was a small dark body, like a mouse. Unemployed, it still drove the car, pushing the TV out the passenger-side door, yellow chyme and bile the...

Nuts by Melanie Bilkowski

Today is just another Peanut Butter and Jelly day. 0.75 cents per sandwich retail. But by the time My daughter is 35, I am sure that it’ll be triple...

Two Poems by Jacqueline Jules

Avocado Secret When the widow wrote how her husband once said she was like a perfectly ripe avocado, I wanted to rush right out and buy one. Examine its tough exterior, creamy...

Two Poems by Megan Alpert

Island She would cry every time we put her in the carriage. That was all right, and the way I had to lean sideways to...

From Let The Wind Push Us Across by Jane Schapiro

Tent Sometimes in the morning, before opening my eyes, I dream of our tent, that tiny green dome. From behind its walls thin as skin, I hear birds, leaves, a brush...

I Want to Write About the N-Word by Alina Stefanescu

I want to write about nipples even though no word is safe I write about nipples because they make me uncomfortable and the things I cannot touch with...

James Hampton, The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly (ca. 1950–1964) by Pamela Murray Winters

Tossing away sandwiches, chewing gum, cigarettes, he made his heaven from wrappers, commerce’s carapace. Who would discard the meat of the thing: shake out the book and bow to the...

James Hampton, The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly (ca. 1950–1964) by Pamela Murray Winters

Tossing away sandwiches, chewing gum, cigarettes, he made his heaven from wrappers, commerce’s carapace. Who would discard the meat of the thing: shake out the book and bow to the...

On Leave by Shari Jo LeKane-Yentumi

Only whiskey burns the sorrow as she grieves. Purple velvet once surrounded golden dreams. Both a season and a reason left on leave. Now a memory left...

Two Poems by Miles David Moore

L’Auteur Fatslug   Fatslug wonders how people dreamed or daydreamed before the movies infiltrated their thoughts. He himself has become his own Steven Spielberg— or, depending on his...

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Three Poems by Sandra S. McRae

Winter Solstice We drive in the darkpast the open fieldsinto the neighborhood:Millions of lights on the housesin the trees—the world a-twinkle with hopewhile overhead a...

One Poem by Sarah Karowski

Kindly i want to diein the same way daddytakes care of tarantulas—kindly. pick me upby the leg & chuckme out the way. Sarah Karowski (she/her) is...

Street Scene by Vincent Casaregola

Street Scene Early evening heat rises frompavements, from cement and asphalt,carrying a scent slightly sour,slightly acrid—oily and tar-like. Outside the café, beyond its fenced-intables, a large...
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