Issue #24


Rachel Warshaw

Is it self-sacrificing to build God in my image

and then tear him down? 

Am I the God-killer if the only devotion spurned

is my own?

Harvest came, and with it, the fall,

and I tripped

into the cruellest month, the gaping maw

of April,

spring pressed me into service,

sailor boy

off the streets, and into the how how too hot

of summer

and the livelong nights, molasses sick and sticky, 

too. Look God!

No hands! Winter freezes my spokes,

bicycle wheels broke,

my heart splintered, rusted, too.

I am a pothole

waiting to plunge a car into the creek.

I am the freak

in freak accident, I am the God 

in goddamn.

Look, God! No hands!

Rachel Warshaw splits her time between St. Paul and Seattle. Her poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming in Angel City Review, Chanter Literary Magazine, Hu Magazine (Gainesville), and Mercury Magazine (Seattle). Her plays have been performed by the 14/48 Projects and Annex Theatre, among others. She can be found on Instagram at @azonaaaa

Endless Highway

Tori Eberle

A monster truck rally in hell.

She wraps our car in chains and it

transforms into a beautiful silver jaguar

covered in snakes.

Our cat-car rips through the desolate hellscape.

I can feel warm breath on the back of my neck, 

cold wind on my face. 

I reach an arm out the window 


for the bite.

Tori Eberle is a writer based out of Brooklyn, NY. She lives with her dog, cat, and a few wild-found animal skulls. Her work focuses on trauma and emotional violence, as it relates to love, loss, and the fragility of the human body. You can find her lurking online at and on Twitter and Instagram @eberlexm