archives submissions blog (dis)likes

out now!

The Whale and the Waterslide
Rachel Lyon

Giant Panda Monster
S. Craig Renfroe Jr.

Arion Resigns
Matt Mullins

We Figure the Leaves
Kristine Ong Muslim

Do You Know Jesus Christ?
Lauren Becker

Justin Taylor
Matthew Simmons

Today Matt Mullins put a fledgling blue jay back in its nest so it wouldn't be killed by one of his cats (most likely Attila).  This involved an extension ladder and a certain amount of personal danger.  When he came back inside, his wife told him that fledgling birds sometimes purposefully leave the nest for the underbrush where they are fed by their parents for a few days until they are ready to fly.  He doesn't know if this is the case with blue jays.  In metaphorically related news, Matt Mullins also likes to drive long distances with his car stereo turned off.  Lately, he's been considering the ultimate response to the ubiquitous cop-question, "Do you know why I pulled you over?"  He suspects it may be, "Will you let me go if I answer correctly?"  He has yet to field test this theory.  If you have the opportunity to do so, please contact him with the result at  Note: Charges will be declined on collect calls from prison.

Photo by Ryan Molloy

Mutiny is the last I remember.  being pitched over.  only to awaken here.   drowning in an Aeron chair.  typing my own ransom memo for the corporate pirates who pay me in somnambulistic days.  unsure how I was fished out and tanked.  I fill an ironic window on the 22nd floor.  the Fisher Building scrapes dun sky above Detroit ghettos.  peregrine falcons give shape to gnarled winds.  snatch pigeons from the currents.  only to set gutted featherbones within reach.  upon my sill.  meanwhile, I eat years.  dolphins and humpback whales dive over and again down the blue mural decay of the Broderick building beyond.  eventually someone calls a meeting.  in it I ask who drifted my life away on hot sirens rising from the steaming streets.  this is what no one wants to talk about.  of course.  our talk is deliverables.  project status.  the milky muse of my brain sours.  pours over mouthfuls of suspect words.  synergy.  milestone.  benchmark. bleeding edge.  the omnipotent R.O.I.   a burning furrow worms my gut.  afraid of the sleep threatening to dream me fathoms deeper.  I sip my nth cup of black.   mull the word talk until the sound turns crow:  talktawkcawkcaw.  swim back to my desk against dead seas.  stalled by the very air I’ve forgotten how to need.  this is what’s left.  facing the life I’ve wrought.  a comfortable near-miss namesake chair.  a window on the 22nd floor.  a hole in space just beyond the sill’s rail leaking the dregs of a wine god’s song.  painted, peeling dolphins wondering if I will leap.  or pick over these remnants.  a pigeon carcass.  the falcon found unworthy.