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by Yuan Changming Along Dianchi Lake, China’s “sparkling pearlOf the highland,” I found myself lost in a mile-Long row of blue gum trees (introduced fromAustralia in 1896), each standing tall againstThe blue sky, ready to welcome seagulls re-Turning in thousands to flirt with the season What a striking contrast! – the trunk lookedDead, bards peeled […]

by Shon Mapp Imprisoned in terra cotta, I ama seed sown in a false garden.Surrounded by soil-muffledmurmurings of starved cotyledons,the worms register complaintsof cold sustenance. This sad womandoesn’t have the green thumblike her girlfriend. But, she tends usall the same, tries to germinatethe young, revive the old to their lushselves. She doesn’t understand how wecrave

by Darren C. Demaree Emily as We Shorten The Story Her body is a cliff.You have to believelife is mostly falling. Emily as Some Sort of Ruin I limp with Emily.I call it dancing.Call it dancing for me. Darren C. Demaree’s poems have appeared, or are scheduled to appear in numerous magazines/journals, including Hotel Amerika,

To the readers of Twin Flame Literary,   We are so excited to present our fourth issue for your enjoyment! These 18 pieces—12 poems and 6 pieces of prose—highlight the types of voices we hoped for when creating Twin Flame Literary. In these pieces of writing, whether you are reading about weathering Hurricane Maria, or a contemplation of New

by Robin J Bartley Mooney Greenwall was born to be a girl on fire. She came dancing out of the womb to a family of ten siblings, two parents, and was strapped in the most handed down pair of tap shoes her family could afford, and they afforded very little. Her parents had nine older

by Wren Douglas  Wren Douglas is an SFF author from Italy, where they live with their devilish cats and one sprightly old dog. Their work has been featured in Strange Horizons, Kaleidotrope, and the 2023 Lambda finalist anthology XENOCULTIVARS: Stories of Queer Growth, among other venues. They’re @awritingwren on Bluesky

by Angelina Fay I didn’t know it was the last time –It caught me in the turnstileavoiding my mind’s eye In a world not unchangednow the knowing comes in wavesand on every street cornerI’m seeking your frame trains hiss through tunnel veinsand thoughts fall heavy like a rain all fall to the summer from spring

by Michael Fowler The local job fair was held at the bus station, west of the center of town near the wax museum. Much to the annoyance of travelers, hundreds of job hopefuls filled the seats across from the toilets and ticket counters, muttering their CVs into the air for strolling headhunters to hear. I

by Arlie Moberly When the news comes about the fellowship, it’s him she phones first. He is the one who rooted music in her brain, in her blood, in the very way she’s wired. He is where all of this started. It was his records playing in the living room when she was five, six,

by Elena Goh There is a story among the angels.   Sometimes it’s circulated as an urban legend, sometimes a cautionary tale. About boundaries and safety and the limitations of God’s brightest creatures (I never figured out which of the two the last bit was referring to).   It goes something like this. In the