On:

The body is in a prolonged period of a dry spell,In the bosom, a tangled web of gold.At the sight of a water-soaked gravestone,The skin seethes with jealousy.Ash of grief, cobwebs of loveIn the bosom, a tangled web of gold. There are many words for grief,And love.Between the toes, sandsContinue Reading

On:

I ask my husband,Did you notice the newapartments downtown?He looks at me curiously before he answers. I amaze my husbandby my lack of observation.I fail to noteroad construction,high-rise offices,those apartments built 5 years ago,and highway detour signs. I cocoon myself in a small world.I’m attracted to only important details:the enchantingContinue Reading

On:

Nam Hoang Tran is a writer and visual artist based in Orlando, FL. His work appears or is forthcoming in Posit, Bending Genres, Midway Journal, BlazeVOX, New Delta Review, Diode, and elsewhere. Find him online at www.namhtran.com.Continue Reading

On:

     My cream-colored shrug so easily slipped off my shoulders and ran down my arms to the floor. This is not what I had envisioned as necessary to break the ice and the process of melting away fear and self-consciousness. He saw and felt no fear, only assured of his movements,Continue Reading

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Now I would rather remember life than live it.I would rather imagine life than live it.I’d rather watch life going on from the sidelinesin a comfortable chair than stand in the midst of lifeliving it. And maybe that strikes you as sador perverse. And maybe I’m kind of a pervbecauseContinue Reading

On:

All my life, I waited for lovelike pineapple. Sopping bites,hair bristling on skin, tangyand biting. I waited for the nibble on my tongue.It never came. You came,and you were oxygen. You were misting rain,not tidal waves. All my life,I watched my father hail,and I bent towards blue. How to knowContinue Reading