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by Max Pearson waltz: pectus excavatum through the peephole in the curtain, i seeoutside, where the wind howls and snow crashestitanium cymbals against my perspiring window. oblivious,you twist over in my bedsheets. half-asleep,my middle-school Justin Bieber blanket falls to revealthe soft scoop in your chest. i cup my handand make suction-cup sounds on the dentuntil […]

by Willa Stonecipher My love is a city, and I must confess That the manholes scream sinner, That the trams resound symphonic screeches, Lurid and naked in primeval chords, That the common quiet alights With luminous smears of unshaded windowpanes.   That I only take lovers who live off the Red Line, Nameless in my

by Amanda Hawk Watch your step-I tend to spark. My life has been built out of matchbooks.My childhood was wildfires before hopscotch, so I leap over fences with skinned knees,my emotions in my back pocket. I look for exit signs instead of open doors.Learn to memorize escape routes but not how to read a map.I

by Jordyn Damato When I was a young girl I prayed to a glass bottle on the stained carpet in my closet and I beggedthe Lord to make me straight. I asked for a sign, I bargained with the man, I said, “if I come backto the bottle turned either direction as proof I’m not

by James Croal Jackman the streetlights have that angelic glow.green sun with a halo or sickly lionmane. you tell me don’t tell the copsthat when we get pulled over. becausehalfway through the drive the treestaste extra sweet. that extra hintof mint we take to your friend’shouse with the glowing purplepool where kids throw pinesinto a

by Romy Morreo Remember the time I coughed so hardI tore a lung?the microbes inside, dormant, held for decadesgot outinfiltrated my red cells, turned my fingerscarcinogenic, my feet clawed,my voice as venomous as my spitand my flesh crept necroticshrivelling from the inside like a burningscreaming mandrakeand my gums rotted, crawling, until all I could dowas

by Sambhu Ramachandran A squirrel was caughtin an electric fence.The smell of charred fleshas of a barbecue full-swing in hellcoated the air when wemoved in from the meadow’s edge.A swarm of flies whirredover its furry tail,limp upon the grass.A surge of current, perhaps,we surmised and sighed—Thank God, it wasn’t a man.But there was a hole

by Chris Cummins We breathe this season to cleanse the soulWatching escape, a form without form is aCool, crisp symbol for passing.Early December deafens the calls of life, itsRetreat evident in gray sky and hard earthBegging to speak of green again.   In morning’s stagnancy, anomaly is found in you-A leaf, dry and brown and

by Ariel Friedman you ask me at bedtimeon your fourth birthday and when I say no, noone lives forever and you say, but numbers go forever,my mind traces the imagined course of your life—eight-year-old turnedteenager, gangly kid in a dorm turned twenty-something in a queenbed, cuddled with the shadowy figure of not-me until you are

October ushers in the third issue of Twin Flame Literary, a triumph of writing. This month, we celebrate voices full of passion, vivacity, and livelihood. With every issue, we are continuously impressed by the level of storytelling we encounter in all the stories, poems, and essays we read. Thank you to everyone who submitted and