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Two Fictions, by Michael Martone

W H E N N A T U R E W O N ’ T P L U T…

Poem #1022 There is not much excess and what there is is barely perceptible the blank ones disappear from…

Memory Is Pagan the body makes us spiritual, living in its wreckage lets us breathe as the veil falls…

Leveraged a Meadow for Cece You unfolded from forms of careful guesses placed in a time where discussion lacked…

Ark-Shaped Plus Neck She walks the shore, kempt and clipped, just-so wings, a lion’s glance across the blue savannah,…

I Don’t Wish to Be a Vampire With centuries of memory stored in a youthful body. It is – or…

Everyone tells me there’s no work on this road, I make bad choices okay fine but I swing from a…

In the end, silence reigned. It settled over dry fields and skeletons—trees black obelisks in risen waters. Finally, children…

this old house as something still blooming such dust — these dandelion seeds orb my vision cobwebbed. optometrists say if…

Violet Madrigal No bigger than horse-flies, the lawns smalt with them, each tri-heart bloom a giant’s head afloat a thread…