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GASTROPODA

Main: Welcome

Six Lipsticks by Slawka G. Scarso

Avon Berry Nice Your first lipstick is a gloss and tastes of strawberries. The moment you apply it, you start to lick, lick, lick, till...

Birds at the Feeder by Carol Casey

Junco, Cardinal blue, red flitting at the feeder in the swaying, cedar, sombre evergreen winter-clad. They flutter between branches, red,...

Eve by Katie Holloway

The globe of the fruit glistened before her, an orb of promise and potential, of passion, power and something she couldn’t yet name, but...

a thicket of weeds by nat raum

nat raum (b.1996) is a queer disabled artist and writer currently working towards their mfa at the university of baltimore. their work is...

Playing With Sticks by Pete Sheild

All our arbor ancestors arrived long before her house was built. Long before any of these houses were built. We went about our seasons...

Three Poems by A. Rabaduex

after the death of a neighbor kid, I think of Charlotte's Web in morning sun a spider meditates along its lattice next to my bench no...

Un café by Sabina Y. Wong

Today reminds me of my first time. That day, the sky was gray, where strong breezes made my neighbor's tall bushes undulate like we were...

Poissonnier by Stephanie Parent

How much must you scorn yourself To desire to cleave yourself In two And hope someone will notice The new creature you’ve become? Or...

Lying Not Lying by Pat Foran

We’re playing one-on-one in the driveway and my friend says he knows me and I must have had a reason to want the Believe In Music — 22...

Natural Disaster by Nadja Maril

She looked down at her spotted legs and imagined others examining her body when she died. Discarded. Laid out on a lab table or still in...

Love in Fast Forward by Tori Hicks

Eggos fresh from a concealed toaster, warm and soft in your palms. A delicacy. Curled up in soft, oversized sweatpants and a ratty green...

Waves by Matthew McGuirk

A cool April morning isn’t the beach of my childhood. The bite of the air doesn’t match the warm sun; the low tide showing white eyes...

Thin Ice by Victoria Buitron

By the time I’m dropped off, the sun is still obscured by clouds, a shrivel of dim light making it an overcast day—so dreary even the...

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