merlot

Stomach language by Ashlie Allen

I don’t want to sit down. My stomach is roaring, but my mind is roaring louder. “Don’t go close to them. They think you’re weird.” Carrying my books, I flee to the [...]

June 7, 2017

The wine label as poetry, 1 by Lindsey Thäden

CHIM CHIM CHAROO-VINEYARDS Gold Label Reserve Chom Chomerlot MAHASKA COUNTY 2015 A drop of our Dutch vintner’s robust Merlot elicits a come-hither fusion of coconut, anise, [...]

April 20, 2017

In Which All of My White Ex-Boyfriends Simultaneously Run For President by Khaya Osbourne

the careless whisper, soft pair of lips, hushed ‘i love you’ that you threw into the night comes back to your [...]
Loss is by April Salzano

not the contact paper on broken walls, the hammock no one used, the black strap that didn’t seem able to stop the badness. [...]
Vending Machine Press Issue #17

Photo by: Johannes Huwe The very fine writers for Issue 17 are: Crying in Cars With Ghosts by Maggie McEvoy Three [...]
Some Nice Words by Jenya Doudareva

“Something’s happened” I overheard As I noted the people were rushing away Trying not to look nervous (were they [...]
From The Book of Smaller by rob mclennan

Postcard to Gil McElroy A sketch. An apparatus of mish-mash. Salutations. Systematic checks. My legs were cold. Mezzanine. [...]
Morning in Portland and other poems by George Franklin

Orange peels on the plate, broken curls Of skin, scent of trees from Morocco, Spain, or somewhere else, somewhere other Than [...]
Coffee Stains by Christina Murphy

Carrying a Starbucks Venti with double cream down the steps, he trips, hits his head, and the coffee spills out into a small [...]
False Narratives and other poems by Lauren Suchenski

False narratives this one was the one I concocted – news (though it was fake, it was new) or olds or things sold, [...]
A Brief History Of Cola by Glen Armstrong

Though cola is undeniably a cultural construct and any modern, identifiable culture should be able to construct a Rube [...]
No One Sees Until They’re Dead by Mary Julia Klimenko

Take me back to Italy where you threw my suitcase out of the third story window at midnight, and I screamed, “Fuck you.” [...]
four poems by Justin Hyde

i haven’t been with his wife in three months as i come out of the showers towel around my waist at the ymca he’s [...]
Let He Who Is Without by Kevin Brown

She carved my sins in soil we left untended, remains of a garden from the previous owners, letting time and wind wear them [...]