Gourab Hazra

Divine nectar, stranded

Wistful on their tongues,

The rural settlers linger

Vainly for another sighting of

Their guests — the damsels,

And a final taste of the foreign offering:

Unnamed summer fruit,

A richer golden than the exotic tresses,

A lusher meat than the cajoling lips.

Their visitors have departed

Without final pleasantries,

Off to reap the pulsating crop, born of

Their inane hamlet,

From every strip of fragrant peel

That has fleshed out tissues,

Each morsel of relish that has

Crafted their ventricles, carved out

Atria, squeezing out the last drops of their blood

From the wrung-out remains of the sweetest pulp

Into fresh arteries, clinging

To the insides of an obscure lair

That bears fruit now—crimson and luscious.


Would you like another?

John Perilli May 13, 2022

It Is the Voice That Unnerves Me

Dorie’s memory of her deceased husband is being tainted by his Remembrance, a device that simulates his personality.

Warren Benedetto May 6, 2022


Read all the emails, chat logs, audio transcripts, Jira tickets, and other evidence related to the Kristie Breslin case.

Lora Gray May 4, 2022

On This, Our Last Night at Station Six

Original poetry by Lora Gray.

M Shedric Simpson April 29, 2022

An Endless Sky Above

Alicia ventures from the safety of her subterranean bunker to attend a concert on the surface of a planet devastated by vicious, violent storms.

David Lee Zweifler April 22, 2022

Do You Know Why We Stopped You?

Visit a retail hellscape where the only humans are the customers.

Jess Koch April 20, 2022


Love, addiction, and hunger.

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