it’s just a different sunrise in the fall the sun is bright but muted the clouds are dense and low and I am thinking about the future...

Kyle Denner is from Tucson, AZ. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Blue Collar Review, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, and Manastash.

at once, I feel it all suspending permanent arteries the weight of helplessness captured in foreign memories not unlike a dream come back...

We prefer to receive when we only encounter a pair of wide eyes an invitation on fire to smother a Gate beckoning with a glare off the...

Dead Woman Hollow is a hiking trail in Pennsylvania. In 1988, a woman named Rebecca Wight was murdered there. The morning of the 4th, I...

you can stop visiting my dreams now for Corinth, when I look into spaces to fill up a void that is more vacant than a bullet fleshed into...

when the plane landed & i walked through the airport, i felt the way i do when i enter the apartment & my parents crowd me with hugs:...

I ran into a kiwi bird while hiking up the sledge track, early morning. It had news from my dad. He says he has made friends with Chester...

Brevity Capsized pyramid, shake the details down. Distilled to facts and nothing more, briefly smudged across the page; dissect in parts...

That summer we took your father’s boat Off the coast for sunsets we smoked and called it seaweed. We locked toes, gritty with sand and...

Doll Country In doll country we are building a miniature replica of our home, a nutshell study of rooms and hallways forensically scaled...

Outside we watch tender lime leaves unfurl, new life. A small hand reaches for the copper-threaded can, pours cold water right from the...

After, thoughts, The sweating swoosh of infatuation, The gripping, ripping, ride Rolling cotton tides beneath us, Its depth unknowing We...

CW: blood Tonight, she rips the skin off the top of her hand exposing each phalange She achieves this through addition not subtraction A...

Do you see me? Alone, I am resolute Towering sunflowers, Gran’s churned butter dripping from cobs of field-picked corn, Post-it notes and...

A mother’s hands are black from planting bulbs in the crumbling soil of autumn. A bulb is a promise of tomorrow. Mothers do the planting...

Some days when my body feels heavy, I leave my heart, dripping on the countertop and walk out into honeyed light, cicada song still thick...

5 am, I79 wreck. talk radio. hope-wrangled holidays in scotch-tape and latex gloves, sailing incubators we ride these ill winds...

Decennial The superstitions I practiced kept me safe. All of the pennies and grains of salt thrown. Every wishbone that broke in my favor...

The magic mirrors distort her mind as she follows the words in her head to the merry-go- round where horses race silently to nowhere in...