By Theresa Anderson Theresa Anderson is a Denver-based interdisciplinary artist and a writer whose art blog was selected as a top five finalist by the...
voice of hunger Dear Adrienne, The moment of change . you honor. ripples me . in bittersweet wonder—. the...
By Joy KMT The hardest thing for a traumatized people to do is look in the mirror and love themselves, and their reflections. I say...
Florine Demosthene earned her BFA from Parsons the New School for Design and her MFA from Hunter College. She has shown extensively through group...
By Debbie Hu oh ghost of double-headed neglected sunflower... are you arching your spine towards this literally splendiferous sunrise, are you inclining your double ghost...
A selected catalog of my altar from left to right The body is an instrument which only gives off music when it is used as...
By Meg Mundell The woman’s blink rate tells him she’s nervous: almost once per second, four times the normal count. Jack knows a touch of...
By Ari Banias Some Kind of We These churchbells bong out one to another in easy conversation a pattern, a deep ringing that...
When my partner’s father, Saul, first played for me a recording of ranchera singer Miguel Aceves Mejía, I instantly fell in love with his voice....
anatomy of a rape there are ways and ways to love a woman a 101-ways book can be found, open to page 51 ...
Marina Abramović, in The Artist is Present, sat on a wooden chair in the spring of 2010 and made eye contact with anyone who cared...
By: Joseph Ross Outside the Star Barbershop its red, white, and blue twisting barber pole announced a fraternity inside. Holding my father’s proud hand I...
By: L. Lamar Wilson I’ve driven 654 miles without sleep to make you better, but when I ask how you feel & you thrust your...
In recognition of International Women’s Day Lord, I hear of showers of blessings Thou art scattering full and free Showers thirsty souls refreshing Let...
by Brook Blander Stupid (from now that I’m here; lyrics from the mud to the sun) …is what they call her. Without regard to...
By Caits Meissner the two girls loved like a sieve and drank a river of fish and read poems too big for their mouths...
I’m on a relatively small plane on my way to Denver. I’m in the window seat. There’s no middle, just the guy in the aisle...
Anniversary I am knotted at the house screaming. The moving church careening away with my husband. Christ, they’ve committed him. But the witnesses...