Austin does not exist.
by Paul Geller
The Austin I know, the qualities that make it different from other cities across America, they're all part of an old, collective dream. But dreams are volatile, they can be imagined elsewhere. That's why the Austin I know does not really exist.

Copper poetry by Greg Stant

Editor's Note by Harold McMillan
Thank you for picking us up, again or for the first time.

Extremities poetry by Stazja McFayden

eyes behind closed shutters poetry by C.G.

Ferocity fiction by Kelly Stern
Ten years old. When his father tried to talk to him about his mother, all he heard were things like "it's not your fault," "it was her decision, not yours," "there's nothing you could have done." When his father tried to explain why she had "taken her own life," he imagined her tearing her life out of her chest and dragging it twisting by one arm down the street.

Frozen poetry by Marty Newcomb

I'm Darker & I'm Older poetry by Daniel Davis Clayton

Intimacy poetry by Thom, the world poet

I was glad you were chubby when we lived in Alaska poetry by Hank Hyena

not a red herring poetry by Danielle Brown

Notes from the Woodshed by Paul Klemperer
They say that age makes conservatives of us all.

Ode to Adolescence poetry by Harold McMillan

PMS & Death by Suzy Spencer
Is this PMS? Nope. It can't be PMS.

A Tiny Room fiction by William Kier
My baby stirs. She brushes the sheet down her back, and for a second there's life coming from the corner floor where our mattress lies. It's like a wind hitting embers.