Fault Lines by Kali Rice

The last judgement is one of my own construction With futile consolation I reach a vain junction This endeavor seemed to consume me in a desperate fervor And left me weakened in the blue glow of machine-light It’s a splintered road from here on out I expected too little to be so full of doubt…

Colors by Courtney Vanden Bos

Colors are different, beautiful and longing. Dark and stormy. How do you see colors? With the wind in the morning? With the rain to wash away yesterday’s sorrows? Or, as the color of a rainbow after a storm? Colors, are different for me. Red for the blood that runs through my veins keeping me alive….

Truth by Annette Miller

Weaknesses made bare Are hard to face, Raw wounds sting In open air. Highest need, Greatest denial, Expected, desired, But dangerous. Challenging within, A paradox of interests. Wholeness tainted by lies Cannot be complete. Bio: I love music, being outdoors, and spending time with family and friends. I am a concurrent enrollment student taking classes…

Incandescent by Annette Miller

Glowing and radiant, Flaming and shining Bright as pure essence. Day-blind stars, Outshone by sunlight, await Greater glory in night’s shade. Hidden by contamination As fear our dreams from burning, Seen clearly from the heights With troubles far below. The unfathomable depths Of a lover’s eye, Magnified across the skies and spread Like a painted…

United in Differences by Annette Miller

The giant stands, waving Its hands like an insect’s antennae. Its verdant leaves are fairies Sparkling and wiggling in joy. The wind’s beat makes them dance. Little ones climb into Its grandfatherly lap And dream about adventure. The marks on its skin are roads, Traversing, crisscrossing, Overlapping, separating, Joining, branching, Extending like river tributaries. Its…

A Charge and a Tip by Hollie Kopp

Lisbet steps out of the lodge and moves into the murky pre-dawn morning, breathing mouthfuls of dust floating in the air. She turns to her sister, Greta, following behind, who appears to be encompassed in a filmy rust-colored shroud. The land is doused in red as the ubiquitous dirt makes it seem as if one…

The J-Walk by Eric Bolson

With wary speculation, Chester Goldman peered down the long baked stretch of Avenue J watching the smell of the ever-present garbage bags wafting on the heated blacktop’s mirage waves. In silent testament of the abuses of August, J stoically bore bleeding scabs of tar down the cracks of its careworn back. To the left, wrought…