The pH of post-Humous Soup by Jennifer Creedon

The tombstones bask, reptilian, in the east-rising sun.
Young grass, clipped low and tight stands obedient-
each blade recruited stiff and attentive;
like good green soldiers.

Diving In by Jennifer Ruth Jackson

I swung from the ledge, arms and legs
wrapped around the thick, fuzzy rope like a lover
screaming as I launched toward water.

Long Before Twilight by James H Duncan

There were ghosts everywhere; I borrowed book after book from the library saying so, amazed and stunned that they kept this knowledge out in the open and available for anyone to read.

Forever by Louisa Campbell

At night, in your frilled white gown
you hold your candelabra high.

Canadian Psycho by Kristin Garth

Pat Bateman didn’t trust a bitch. My bard
American, my bible psychotic,
my prophet takes no slaves.

Refusing Oblivion by Richard Manly Heiman

A blown-up tintype covers one library wall. This is what the school looked like in 1885, I say, that year in history when—

Out of Place by Stephen Daniels

The home was ruptured, a double-glazed
window invitation, with net curtain sight.

One Night By The River by p.a. morbid

The moonlight spread on the river like spilled milk, while the moon itself had a buttery coolness. They came along the river path, their hunger sated on a lonely drunk they’d found among the ghosts of St. Hilda’s, the old, dead centre of Middlesbrough.

Taps by DC Diamondopolous

Peter crouched in front of the attic window and gazed down on old man Mueller’s cornfield. The plow, unhitched beyond the stalks, turned north like he meant to continue but got interrupted.