Poetry: “Leaves in the Moon,” by C.L. O’Dell

Light unfolds itself in the dark of your veins, in the deserted cold of midnight when my eyelids jig for fish, where skin separates the fragile seasons. I am asleep, curled-up with the spiders and a strange scent of mold. You’re a wet leaf hanging in the thin belly of the moon; I reach for …

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Fiction: “Prometheus” by James Henschen

“I don’t want to know what it was ‘like’, I want to know what it was.” When the detective with the crooked jaw and prom king blue eyes says this to me, I want to punch him in the throat.  Apparently, he lacks an appreciation for metaphor because what I said was “it was like …