(content warning: suicide)

Three weeks after he spent a night in the ER, my son told me he had been listening to Smog’s “Feather by Feather,” headphones on, midnight at the hospital, while a team of what sounded like twenty hos...

This is the summer she lives in Brooklyn and smokes cigarettes in the backyard where someone who lives two stories below her has built a swing set for their kid and honeysuckle spreads its rangy finge...

Edith Patterson Stevie is in love with this town. She is in love with its heavy sense of memory and its slow polluted river full of cottonwood cotton. She is a little bit in love with Bria too.

I. Nebraska is Never Anything Iowa passed in a series of collapsing, unrelated images. out of the fog, out of the fog, they said. Cropped grasses and winded bodies of trees seemed to repeat every mile...

by Benjamin Patterson The year was coming to a close, but it hadn’t closed, right at that moment when the scales shift and autumn begins to tip into winter (think grayscale images, shavings of fros…