Stéphane Vereeckenʼs works are centered on the human being, the different stories surrounding our species and our goal in a constantly...

"Bell", "Mina", & "Anika" Watercolor and ink on watercolor paper I make art because it fulfills my needs for contemplation and prayer....

Watercolor, ink pen A thin pane of glass is the only thing that separates her from the fiercely passionate mayhem that awaits outside....

The City of Individuals Acrylic, 60” x 96” Previously found in Etobicoke School of the Arts PDX Solo 2019, University of Toronto Trinity...

Earth Acrylic on masonite; 12”x 11 3/4” Valley and plow—patterns of nature and humanity—occupy the furrow of the visible world. That...

Liz Wride is a writer from Wales. Her short fiction has appeared in Elle UK, Trampset, Fiction Kitchen Berlin, Okay Donkey Magazine and...

in the backseat of a honda civic i pray for the yellow roses already mushrooming between my fingers: may flowers grotesquize in the...

I like the feel of grass, little paint brushes up my arms and legs and the back of my neck. I giggle like hehehe and mama says my nose...

Look at how lowbrow the sky has become. The opera has closed, leaving tenors gasping. The museums have sold off their holdings, and the...

At the farm stand a woman is coughing, coughing, coughing, laying down a trail of fever that will track her for days until it kills her....

When I look hard at the light and shade of prismatic sunsets, I never catch the colors real poets detect. They describe puce, ecru,...

while standing in her father’s garden. God at her ear, billhook in her palm. The angels just wanting to watch. Bangs being far too...

let's take away my roots. let’s make me a generic girl with a generic flower name and maybe make a joke or two about that–– about how you...

The driver on the way here joked about Bundy, how he could be a serial killer with a little more eyebrow, and he laughed and laughed and...

Golden Shovel from the Access Hollywood tapes Girl, this is how you die the first time. Just ten minutes behind a locker. This kiss could...

How come there aren’t any black ghosts? When we die, we’re dead. There’s no floating through decrepit houses, no possessing of living...

after Mary Ruefle ANGER AS STONE What do I do with all this resentment thrown like a stone into the lake of my body? It’s too deep to...

I do not subscribe that strongly to astrology and still speak in the tongue of the truest believer. What I mean by this is, my sister and...

I stared at the red chair until it turned into a boulder in a chestnut grove where dolls remove their clothes and cry. But first, it was...

The framed photo used to hang in the hall of my single-mom apartment: hair loose, lips lit by laughter, me naked but for a man's white...