Petoskey Stone / Mitch VanAcker


On the shores of North Point
a few arias of crosswind

hatch coils on the mute surf.
Last winter’s undertow

wrenched a crop
from the lake’s full-voiced gullet.

I lift from the clear jelly
a pale gray bud

and appraise the score
left in its frozen vessels:

that sometime verse of seaflesh,
a passacaglia of ancient

lips, ears, and genitals,
slowed by stone and floe

to the oceanic rhythm—
a tone we are deaf to.

Mitch VanAcker is a writer based in Detroit. His work examines “nature” and “the self”—their seeming disharmonies and the structures we build to reconcile them. He enjoys bonfires, kayaking, and impromptu visits to strange cities.

What is Left / Barry Casey


Take them away, the redwoods with
the tiny blue flowers at their feet. Take them
away before we trample them at last.

The rivers: release them from their vows.
Let them know in secret they don’t owe us
anything. They will find their own way.

And the forests, loyal to the end. They know
how to march, though it fills them with fear.
Perhaps this will be enough to get them moving.

The air, the wind, best when unseen. Let it
pass softly on its way, where the million
weights it carries can finally be dropped.

Leave us the stars, cold, remote, ancient of days.
They look down upon us silently, unafraid.
They know we cannot touch them.

Barry Casey has published in Adventist Society for the Arts, Brevity, Faculty Focus, Lighthouse Weekly, Mountain Views, Patheos, Spectrum Magazine, The Dewdrop, and The Purpled Nail. His collection of essays, Wandering, Not Lost: Essays on Faith, Doubt, and Mystery, was published by Wipf and Stock in November 2019. He writes from Burtonsville, Maryland.

yes more covers


Denver has really good used bookstores and many of them


Iowa is a nightmare. Iowa City is a nightmare within one. Some DLM covers

I hope that some Iowans read this because I want them to know it. I hate Iowa


it’s coming along. i’m getting back to all the submissions these days. Collecting for volume 4 now. Been in the desert for 40 days can’t wait to go home (but not before I put these lit mags in all the used book stores from Pheonix back to Detroit)

hey please come to the party

The Goldfinch Kenotic / Charlie Dunn

This mournful poem by Charlie Dunn describes the noble, if unreachable desire to put off all desiring and sorrowing until the moment of entering the afterlife.