Ten Cents a Dance

The Babe Ruth Museum on Emory Street where the Sultan of Swat was born is also the ground zero of Barbara DeCesare’s multi-syllabic night life. “I’ve crashed—on couches—on nearby Paca, Eutaw, Lemmon Streets. Big Bam’s ghost—he knows me. Bummed a smoke off me, once.”...

Tell it to the Birds

We’re kicking off Spring with a celebration of our third issue. We’re tickled to bring you the best of the best in local art, local music & of course, great local writing! Readings by FSR contributors: C. L. Bledsoe Barbara DeCesare Elizabeth Hazen...

Getting Used to It

On www.freestatereview.com, a preview of the Winter/Spring 2014 issue with a poem by Edward Field. Don’t have a copy yet? Find it on our website or in select...

A Britt in the Room

It’s hard for Alan Britt’s poetry to sneak up on you. It’s like a diesel tractor, full of snorts and groans and clanging parts. A few years ago we heard him all the way in Dallas—a poem about Cuba in Ilya’s Honey. Britt came out of the old Hopkins Writing Seminars in...

Nikia, On the Rocks

Love at first sight happens to most of us once in a life. It’s happened to Nikia Leopold twenty times. Architecture and painting—shape and color—inform her lines. In the space between the two, fantastic desire climbs hollowed out hand and toe holds. It climbs to...