Juked

Deathtrap Whirlpool

Fri, 17 May 2013 11:54:00 EDT

Short story by Stephen Graham Jones.

So I’m standing at the third of eight urinals kind of just spacing out, not breathing too deep, not making any face like I’m over-enjoying myself here, eyes straight-straight ahead, when a guy’s chin is suddenly on my shoulder, his whiskers rasping against the fabric of my jacket, his voice tunneling down my ear, rollercoastering into my head, splashing behind my eyes: This is the only place we can talk, man” . . .

Ghazal with a Tumor

Tue, 14 May 2013 11:01:00 EDT

Poem by Tara Mae Mulroy.

Billy the Kid vs. Dracula

Thu, 9 May 2013 11:34:00 EDT

Short story by William VanDenBerg.

He’s 21 but looks 16. His front teeth used to buck out from his lips but are now gone, broken off in a saloon outside of Fort Worth. A network of pink scars covers his forehead like a veil. He feels the sharp ruins of his teeth with his tongue . . .

This Is the Poem That’s Going to Get Me Out of the Mines

Tue, 6 May 2013 17:49:00 EDT

Poem by Ron Riekki.

Baltimore Roulette

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 23:54:00 EDT

Short story by Luke Tennis.

St. Louis, Fourth of July; two sea gulls from the nearby Mississippi get curious. I’ve been buzzed before. Dad’s instructions are to slide your feet. Keep the pole loose in your hands; let it do the work. But this time my steps wobble the wire. The street is below, buildings on either side. I’m four stories up without a net. I can see right into the beady eyes of those gulls. I see mischief. They want in on the action. I let my eyes stray, which is a rule I’ve never before broken. My eyes stray to the faces down there looking up at me . . .

Slut

Thu, 25 Apr 2013 10:22:00 EDT

Poem by Kimberly Bruss.

Country Prayers: Di Maiores

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 10:01:00 EDT

Poem by Brad Efford.

Our Bodies Kept Moving

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 10:05:00 EDT

Short story by Sarah Domet.

It was like our brains had died, but our bodies kept moving. Kept right on moving, like a tire bouncing down some endless hill. If we were bored or disappointed, we didn’t know it. We did what Maurice had told us to do: We waited . . .

Candiru

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 01:31:00 EDT

Poem by Michael Barach.

If Your Safety Is Immediately Threatened

Tue, 9 Apr 2013 10:55:00 EDT

Short story by Sacha Siskonen.

I measured the days in increments of how long it took to get information from outside of my brain to inside it. A minute wasn’t a minute. An hour was a minute. Time wasn’t a minute. Information was time. Reading took time, but reading wasn’t time. The old cliché “time is money” didn’t apply anymore. During a recession time can’t be money. Money isn’t even money anymore. An ad on the train said, “Knowledge is the global currency” and that really struck me. I was teaching a class at the local community college. “Knowledge is the global currency,” I wrote on the white board . . .

Stepping Inside of November

Tue, 2 Apr 2013 17:08:00 EDT

Poem by Stevie Edwards.

The Tooth of the Wolf

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 15:38:00 EDT

Short story by Margaret Patton Chapman.

On November 16, 1943, in the Sandoz Laboratories in Bassel, Switzerland, Albert Hoffman resynthesized lysergic acid diethylamide from ergot fungus. He was perhaps searching for vasoconstrictors, for pain relievers, for blood medicines to stop hemorrhages. Perhaps for something more sinister. “Was habe ich gemacht?” he asked when the chemistry was completed, holding a beaker of clear liquid to the light. He made a note in the small lab book he kept in his shirt pocket, and drew a few micrograms of the new liquid from the beaker with a thin glass pipette. “What have I made,” he asked, and placed the pipette to his tongue . . .

Nowhere Is Also a Place

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 08:50:00 EDT

Poem by José Luis Gutiérrez.

the smoothie

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 10:24:00 EDT

Prose poem by Bill Rector.

With Human

Tue, 19 Mar 2013 09:50:00 EDT

Short story by Carol Guess and Kelly Magee.

When she learned that the baby was human, she felt disappointed. It rattled inside her, fearless and furless, alphabet of bones and thumbs . . .

How to Write a Story in the Second-Person Imperative

Thu, 28 Feb 2013 09:22:00 EDT

Short story by Micah Stack.

Read Lorrie Moore’s “Self-Help.” There is much to be learned, much to be stolen. Bad poets borrow, great poets steal. Certainly Eliot’s maxim must apply, too, to fiction. Convince yourself that it does. Convince yourself that you’re not the billionth person to think so . . .