Author: limestone-admin
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Indio, California
By Britt Astrid Alphson There is a viciousness about it, Indio. Bark scorpions and the collapsing of breath, of time, of anything besides a careening sort of heat. The Morongo Casino Resort juts from the soil like some beckoning reptilian creature: the older patrons with their rotting teeth, acres folded upon acres of fuck-you-green putting…
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In Praise of Dirt
By David Salner Dirt, dust, and mud; gumbo of ground bone; two million femurs in wet earth of the wide and charming Volga; Tibia shards underfoot near the placid Elbe; not to mention cranium bits along the meandering waters of the Vistula; and the tidal Ota, whose sediment is home to delicate wrists, all those…
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The Elsewhere or: On Reading A Brief History of Time
By Jacob Simmons In less than half a century, man’s view of the universe has been transformed. In less than a year, I’ll be forty. Jesus. Forty years old. When I was in my twenties, I moved to the middle of a blackberry field, into a farmhouse that roasts me like a chicken when Fresno…
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Assisted Living
by Jeanne Bryner Beside his chair walks a shadow but where’s the candle to lift, to light what patron saint protects him? Our town’s wheelchair man, legs bent and angled, crooked feet shod. Long ago he knew the forge; see leather gloves, fingers cut away? Twice a day he slogs himself to town then back.…
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I Want the Sunset That You Want
By Daniel Edward Moore but that doesn’t make me the pastoral police. At least, not over the acres of sky known for their fluffy feel-good frenzy. According to the ocean’s cold crashing hymns in the church of drown, no don’t, there’s little time left for the skin to burn like incense in the temple of…
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Circling the Drain
After brushing the side walls, skimming the surface, and running the vacuum up and down the shallow end of the pool, Dana kicked off her Birkenstocks and plopped into the deep end.
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A Good Host
We bought the house privately. That was why we got lucky, because it wasn’t listed on any of the realty websites. There was just a sign in the road, pointing to a windy drive that ended at a detached garage.
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Pure Fool
We had ham & Brie on our saltines, fortified wine. & even though we were ill met by the needling rain & springtime’s anarchic phlegm, it was a grand picnic…