Gulf Coast Online Exclusives


Drunk Bitch Dreams of a Luminous Stream

Stevie Edwards

Drunk Bitch dreams of a luminous stream / & pisses herself. Drunk Bitch drops her drink in the lap / of a slightly less drunk body & is sure she's found love / in his smiling shrug


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

It's Fashion Week

Nathan Hill

And the hot thing for spring is orgasm. Everybody’s coming like crazy. The photographers, designers, celebrity guests. People are falling over!

New: Now Contains Zinc

David Kirby

Artist friend of mine works part-time at a store that sells Red Rooster pills to any guy who thinks he needs a “male sexual performance booster” or any gal who wants a 60-tab bottle of that reliable blend of proven herbal supplements,

A Door, Prone, Crushing a Field of Flowers

Michael Schmeltzer

I am at my threshold. / The dirt of our daughter. / The mole of her squirming body.

Lachrymatory

Geoffrey Nutter

Silent gray boulders are lapped at / by waves. What’s that / in the mud where the tide is going out? / Buttons; bottle caps; small bits / of styrofoam that look like shells or coral…

From the Archives

Two Transactions

Carmen Petaccio

He stared down the neck of the guitar like a rifle sight. The shelves in the glass case between us were lined with switchblades, laptops, engagement rings and arrowheads. A small fan on the counter blew only on the clerk. BEWARE: GUARD FERRETS, said a sign taped to the side of the register.

Low-End Theory

Kendra DeColo

Love, I’m a musky vermouth, palm of discount / stars, instruction manual for low-end vibrators / which is to say, my frequencies have slowed / down to the flutter of a junebug’s libido

The Field of Rooms and Halls

Richard Siken

1 A man found a door and hung it on the wall. I think he thought in rectangles, each day's bright panel pushed one against the next, a calendar of light.…

Seasonal Without Spring: Summer

Andrés Cerpa

Was that season artery or vein? when the days stretched like Broadway, & the nights undid our shirts – the temperature so slight you could raise your arms in flight & feel nothing, the body as air. But there was also the need for hurt. And dusk: a ghost of a boy tempted to feel his weight, to put his palm to the depth, touch the pupil, the dead turbine of god’s one good cataracted eye.

From the Blog

Strategies of Art Making

A friend in England asked me just recently whether I thought her work had become too much like 'the last cry of a dinosaur.' I thought not, but it made…

I Hate a Rainy Night

Thursday, August 24, 2017 Hurricane preparation begins with a conversation about a small claims court case involving a batch of botched edible underwear.…