Definitive Plumage*
︎︎︎ Joe Phelan
︎ Nov 11, 2026
After Cormac McCarthy
Resist not evil,
nor the instinct to molt,
bad luck may
save you again.
Falling feathers augur
the advent of mightier quills,
barred or mottled, bright.
Fit for roost and far-ranging flight,
the ends of wind unveiled
at their scattering.
*A bird is adult when it acquires its final or definitive plumage that is then repeated for life. (Ontario Birds 18(1):27-43 in April 2000).
Resist not evil,
nor the instinct to molt,
bad luck may
save you again.
Falling feathers augur
the advent of mightier quills,
barred or mottled, bright.
Fit for roost and far-ranging flight,
the ends of wind unveiled
at their scattering.
*A bird is adult when it acquires its final or definitive plumage that is then repeated for life. (Ontario Birds 18(1):27-43 in April 2000).
DINNER DIVE
︎︎︎ Sam Kane
︎ Nov 10, 2026
I wipe my eyes in the mirror and rub my belly,
I shower and dress and fasten my silver watch.
Everyone always compliments me on this watch,
They say it looks so nice and big and shiny,
But I know it’s cheap and got a scratch on its face.
I walk to dinner past a few faceless people.
A waitress pours my wine. She pauses and smiles.
I smile and my eye drifts off to Monday morning.
I take a sip—I picture her hands pouring.
I slice a piece and bite into my pink steak.
I walked over here through a dream-lit corridor.
I sign my name and float back across the street.
I remember just crossing this way and smiling with another.
My eye catches the sun’s last crimson glimmer,
And I stare out for a moment then walk inside.
I shower and dress and fasten my silver watch.
Everyone always compliments me on this watch,
They say it looks so nice and big and shiny,
But I know it’s cheap and got a scratch on its face.
I walk to dinner past a few faceless people.
A waitress pours my wine. She pauses and smiles.
I smile and my eye drifts off to Monday morning.
I take a sip—I picture her hands pouring.
I slice a piece and bite into my pink steak.
I walked over here through a dream-lit corridor.
I sign my name and float back across the street.
I remember just crossing this way and smiling with another.
My eye catches the sun’s last crimson glimmer,
And I stare out for a moment then walk inside.
Sam Kane was born and raised in Boston. He is finalizing his debut collection, Feast // Famine.
Finally objective truth
︎︎︎ Sam Cooke
︎ Nov 9, 2026
A broken body will do anything
To get out of this
Do not fall for it
Remain vigilant to reverse the curse
Architecture is hostile for a reason
Koala bear legs hustle to evade
Government extraction of
Government resources
The sun becomes a distant stranger
The pharmacy is occupied by
A human misery parade
At night we retreat to the treehouse
And slam rubber balls against the ceiling
To our daughter’s delight
She just learned to say the word
Happy
To get out of this
Do not fall for it
Remain vigilant to reverse the curse
Architecture is hostile for a reason
Koala bear legs hustle to evade
Government extraction of
Government resources
The sun becomes a distant stranger
The pharmacy is occupied by
A human misery parade
At night we retreat to the treehouse
And slam rubber balls against the ceiling
To our daughter’s delight
She just learned to say the word
Happy
Potluck
︎︎︎ Mark Marlow
︎ Nov 8, 2026
Bitter breeds of a styrofoam sky
Rainbows petaled in gasoline
Thanks for the kindness of other men’s wives
Making dinner, I mean
Pyramid jagging of tortilla triangles,
Crimson salsa, blood-light melon,
Cardinal’s robe and Caesar’s sash,
Which falls on and fell on eternity’s felon.
No toga for me but a novelty napkin.
Those who like salads work hard on their salads,
Picking and plucking and putting the leaves
And artfully sprigging with blushes of color
The vegetable fibers so good for digestion,
The vinaigrette spritzing in schizoid directions.
Petite little plate, oh, you go by my fork.
Steak! Ribeye! Blackened and sanguine,
Languid majestic in red-oozing rest,
It’s the best. With my knife’s teeth I saw thin strips.
Close eyes, loll head, mystic enraptured,
My compliments to the chef, he’s the best.
And the fat goes first for it melts and implodes on the tongue.
Must be ate in the first frenzied flash or it curdles and gags.
Night pours in. Madeline’s doing the dishes,
Her strangler’s hands, stack dwindling,
I imagine her processing Polacks with Vasya Blokhin.
The women are working so here I am yapping of war crimes.
Tommy is asking the AI re: Seven-Kill Stele.
Lily is up for a laugh and she speaks Mandarin,
And so, she leads a toast:
“To innumerable good things, that Heaven brings forth for our nurture.”
Liam is single. He thinks:
“Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill.”
Rainbows petaled in gasoline
Thanks for the kindness of other men’s wives
Making dinner, I mean
Pyramid jagging of tortilla triangles,
Crimson salsa, blood-light melon,
Cardinal’s robe and Caesar’s sash,
Which falls on and fell on eternity’s felon.
No toga for me but a novelty napkin.
Those who like salads work hard on their salads,
Picking and plucking and putting the leaves
And artfully sprigging with blushes of color
The vegetable fibers so good for digestion,
The vinaigrette spritzing in schizoid directions.
Petite little plate, oh, you go by my fork.
Steak! Ribeye! Blackened and sanguine,
Languid majestic in red-oozing rest,
It’s the best. With my knife’s teeth I saw thin strips.
Close eyes, loll head, mystic enraptured,
My compliments to the chef, he’s the best.
And the fat goes first for it melts and implodes on the tongue.
Must be ate in the first frenzied flash or it curdles and gags.
Night pours in. Madeline’s doing the dishes,
Her strangler’s hands, stack dwindling,
I imagine her processing Polacks with Vasya Blokhin.
The women are working so here I am yapping of war crimes.
Tommy is asking the AI re: Seven-Kill Stele.
Lily is up for a laugh and she speaks Mandarin,
And so, she leads a toast:
“To innumerable good things, that Heaven brings forth for our nurture.”
Liam is single. He thinks:
“Kill kill kill kill kill kill kill.”
Mark Marlow writes from New York City and other places.
Please unblock emergency
︎︎︎ Rebecca Warlick Cooke
︎ Nov 6, 2026
I hammer your stakes
In men I trust
Until they die for me
Until then
Stop playing with my devices
And ruining my life
Who says God doesn’t speak
Through us together
We weep and it overflows
Something in the water
Good enough for us both
Everyone gets low paying job
Everyone gets a cookie
In men I trust
Until they die for me
Until then
Stop playing with my devices
And ruining my life
Who says God doesn’t speak
Through us together
We weep and it overflows
Something in the water
Good enough for us both
Everyone gets low paying job
Everyone gets a cookie
Rebecca Warlick Cooke is a painter from California. She lives in New York.
Also by Rebecca: Get bent