Carrie R. Moore

That summer, vermin fled the Alabama heat, scrambled into the pool, and drowned. They must’ve been compelled by the pumps churning the water, the waves cresting teal-blue from the pool’s sides before flattening in the middle. The pool carried so much from the shallow end to the deep and back . . .

Josh Tvrdy

She lets them grow slack in their purple suits.
She keeps them

in a bowl on the granite island.
Plump, gleaming—like the plucked eyes

of a black bear—so dark
they hoard the morning light . . .

Daniela Catrileo

It’s hard to say:
is this a tapir
or
is this fear

I can’t decide
if the image existed
in this universe 
of things . . .

Leath Tonino

I’m refilling my coffee, refreshing the video, banging the spacebar to halt the man mid-sentence, banging it to start him pontificating again. My girlfriend, Sophia, pokes her head into the room and rolls her eyes at this caffeinated Saturday madness. With the dullest of pencils, I’m gouging a notepad . . .