The Golden Corral, Golden Corral, Golden Corral, Corral, Corral…
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Poems by Sam Robinson
Sam Robinson is a writer from Massachusetts whose poetry has appeared before in Blue Arrangements, Spectra Poets, No More Prostitutes, Swamp, Reap Thrill and Apocalypse Confidential.
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HIGH HORSE MAGAZINE MEETS TRAVIS BURKETT
Perhaps it is appropriate that the publication of Travis Burkett’s debut novel, An American Band, follows by several years the death of Texas’ most famous minor regional novelist. Burkett has a similar connection to the Western setting, one not informed by apocalyptic ideation or voyeurism, but lived experience. It is because of this that I…
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High Horse Magazine Meets Will Mountain Cox
Will Mountain Cox is a writer from the Northwest of the United States who has been living in Paris for the better part of the last decade. He has been writing and cultivating a community of poets and artists. WMC has released a novel that is immense in its brevity. He does so much within…
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5 Poems and 2 Short Films by Lana Valdez
Shutters In the eye of the real hurricane, there are no shutters. Only you and me, holding down the stars. In the junk shop, I find the Mayan calendar- wheels of thread spinning through gold pages, ancient tongues, eyeballs wrapped in silk. There are no seers anymore, you say. Ash Wednesday In Friday Mass, I…
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5 poems by Ryan Riffenburgh
In ER lobbies waving flags white in truce or Morphine IV slow dripping soft clear jelly so hard in your vein; how IF I had it MY WAY, I might plug myself in with you and coast down the hallway on wheels. Lights above us passing like the trucks out on I5. Once again the…
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REVIEW: So Much Heart by Drew Buxton
By Reese Sawyer: In a recent interview with Graham Holmes, featured in the Porter House Review, Joy Williams said…
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“A Complete History of the United States of America,” “California Homestead,” and “Bear Country” (Three Poems from the collection, Messages from the American Trashcan)
By Bram Riddlebarger: The piston rod shot through the engine like the news of a divorce…
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Give to Caesar What is Caesar’s
By Clarke e. Andros: Coop balanced the mug in his left hand, the hot liquid a shifting disc of obsidian against the cream interior sides as he wove through the idling double parked cars on the streets of Boyle Heights. Spinning the wheel with a single palm, he held an unlit cigarette in his cracked…
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“Turkey Vultures,” and “September Prayer” (Two Poems from the forthcoming collection, Glass Cabin)
Turkey Vultures by Tina Mozelle Braziel All afternoon, vultures glide over the ridge, turn and dive, tilting to rise and circle. All day, no one holds the ladder as I climb up to keep the skylight’s pane in place, as you climb down for a drill, more screws, something else we forgot or keep getting…
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The Oratorical Bum
By Michael FitzMichael: One night in some dank and dismal underground, I was waiting for a train. There was a bum down there, trodding the platform theatrically, and there was a gang of teenagers with skateboards.
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High Horse: The Year in Review…pt.2
The High Horse has been merciful to us this year. But like a dormant volcano or a sleeping dragon, we must keep up with our offerings. This year was full of abundance. In a small ecosystem like ours, we made some waves and under the circumstances of babies and spouses, we got a lot of…
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High Horse: The Year in Review… pt. 1
The High Horse was pleased with all that was accomplished in just about six months as a new musical and literary institution. We were able to support the work of artists we have enjoyed and admired; we discovered a wealth of new artists; we made some friends and put out some top-notch work along the…
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STILL LIFE OF AN IRIS IN SPRING
By Ouristoprous: It was two parking lots away, what was last to be done. I lit a cigarette leaning over the railing on my pitiably narrow balcony on the second floor. The iron of its make looked so black against the functional white of the apartments, their walls of cheapest vinyl, but it matched the…
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The Singleton
By A.J. Brown:They’ve been clearing out the laundromat my bedroom window overlooks for a week now. Black garbage bags lined up firing-squad style against a hospital green paintstripe.
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Facial
By Henry Luzzatto: I woke up with the angriest pimple of my life. Red, swollen, and right between my eyes — the kind of blemish that announces itself with authority and refuses to be ignored.
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Names For Things
By Amber Burke: Casey is confused. She doesn’t remember having met us yesterday. “These two are going to be living here with us this year,” Glen, the caretaker of this small ranch in Coyote, NM, pop. 71, who has also become his wife’s caretaker, tells her again. “They came all the way from Pennsylvania. They’re…
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Clarence Go Boom
By Roger Ellis:The night air in our hootch was 95 degrees at least. And it was acrid; you could taste it. About a dozen of us were swatting mosquitoes and watching a high-stakes poker game being played on a makeshift game board under a slow-turning ceiling fan. We were wearing casual fatigues; one or two…
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T Paulo Urcanse Prize For Literary Excellence Finalists: An Announcement
On behalf of the estate of T Paulo Urcanse, and with the full weight and authority of the Editorial Staff here at High Horse, it is my distinct honor to announce this year’s winners and finalists for the first annual T Paulo Urcanse Prize For Literary Excellence, as follows: 1st Place: Still Life of an…
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“Bosie Is Being Erased,” an excerpt from the novel Magnetic South
By John McManus: Bosie knew his teeth shouldn’t be chattering like a gambler’s dice at ninety degrees Fahrenheit. In the Kalahari in December, frigid cold shouldn’t be slicing through to his bones. Beyond the fire the other safari guests watched him lean in toward the stew pot for warmth. It was to silence his teeth…
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Laramie Legend and Brain Sweat’s Nick McDill
If you don’t know Nick from his countless alter-egos and endless multimedia projects (like the one where he pretended to work at Ridley’s for a really long time and then they actually hired him; or that one time when he was always reading Herman Hesse and talking about glass beads; or that one time where…
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T Paulo Urcanse, The Art of Fiction No. 77
Interviewed by Reese Sawyer: T Paulo Urcanse was interviewed by the Editors of High Horse on assignment for The Paris Review sometime in early 2023, prior to the horrifically painful and fatal heart attack that stole the great author from his beloved audience and the world.
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3 Poems
DC Leonhardt: In my room, the lights are off. There is a tree bustling outside my window Where I cross my arms against the sill to look out And I can see the bright pricks of town,
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3 Poems
By Coraline James Seksinsky: Calcium deposit building up, everyone who can cash a check on their name. If I let my guard down, remove all obstacles between me and myself, the notion goes, then the scheme might just work. Goddamnit I need a dentist. I need a road, a saber for a beast.
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The Meantime
By Trampas Smith: Farming trees is a slow business, so in the meantime Will has a job delivering pizzas. He doesn’t make extra talk with customers nor even eye contact, but he makes more in tips than any other driver. Had he known that the cab of his pickup would smell like pizza even when…
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Six Poems
By Clark e. Andros: We pawed at a set of schematic plans below the John Deere owned by my father. I swept the floors and coaxed the pan shy dust…
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