Andrew Collard

The ancient spacemen rode vibrations.
They were born with beards,

suckling desperately in the fore-
shadow of sports, and sudden death.

Crossing T’s on mis-marked constellations
they knocked our heads,

the grace of their tango staining
our faulty parachutes.

They maimed us one by one
as we knelt in the TV light for cover.

But the kettle sleeps, sometimes.

My hands relearn the softness of cats
and my mouth, the dry

shock of molars on gravel.

Each conception, though, when the sun
reclothes their sexmaps,

I feel the echoed thump
of spacefeet on butter.

ANDREW COLLARD lives in Madison Heights, MI, and attends Oakland University. Recent work can be found online at Word Riot and Ex Fic.

Al Ortolani

high on Mt. Sneffels
hikers pass
in deep cloud cover —
no way up or down
without disappearing

poncho over my head
knees to chin
hail rattles the couloir
where I sit
with other stones

AL ORTOLANI’s poetry and reviews have appeared in journals such as Prairie Schooner, New Letters, Word Riot, and the New York Quarterly. His fifth collection of poems, Waving Mustard in Surrender, was released in 2014 from New York Quarterly Books. Currently, he is teaching English in the Kansas City area and serves on the Board of Directors of the Kansas City Writers Place.

Abra Deering Norton

reaching out to touch
not like the cattails back home
purple reeds with teeth

ABRA DEERING NORTON‘s recent work appeared in The Subterranean Quarterly and Eunoia Review. She has an MFA from UCLA. She’s written for the Los Angeles Times and her creative non-fiction has appeared in The Huffington Post and elsewhere. She’s originally from Minneapolis, lives in California and misses rain. She’s on twitter @adeerLA.