In-flight Literary Magazine Fifth Issue Launch/Call for Submissions

Current Issue

The fifth, one year anniversary, issue of In-flight Literary Magazine is now available. It was managed by Ace Kingsly and edited by holden lyric (with help from Matthew Revert even though she feels really bad about it). Our guest Spanish translator and editor is Francisco Letechipía. This issue is a compilation of poetry and fiction by:

Willie Watt


Dee B.
Rich Boucher
Teresa Córdova
Oliver Nicholas Day
Daniel de Cullá
James Hale
Kirsten Imani Kasai
Kyle Lefton
Robin Lucas
Brice Maiurro
Brandon Marlon
Todd Mercer
Keeley Middleton
Alina Nguyen
Grace Penzell
Nalini Priyadarshni
Noah Rooze
David Rullo
Miriam Sagan
Shalini Samuel
Andrew Scott
Steve Shultz
Namitha Varma


Fiona Glass
Barbara Harroun
Joseph Johnston
Trent Lewin
Kaitlin Pollard
Matthew Revert

Call for Submissions

Submissions for issue six of In-flight Literary Magazine are now open. The deadline to submit is December 1st.

If you would like your work to be considered for our sixth issue, please e-mail

For poetry, please submit 3-5 poems for consideration. To get a feel for our style, feel free to roam around our site or previous issues.

For fiction or creative non-fiction, our word count limit has no minimum (feel free to run with that) and the maximum is 2,500 words.

Simultaneous submissions are fine with us but please PLEASE please notify us as soon as humanly possible if it is published elsewhere.

Previously published work is okay, just let us know where so we can give proper credit where it’s due. Make sure to adhere to any grace periods provided by whoever has published it previously. If you’re unsure about grace periods, please contact your previous publisher.

Unfortunately, we cannot offer any form of payment at this time. We allow one submission per issue per person.

Feel free to bring up any questions in the comments below or email us if you’re a shy writer (totally unheard of).

Submissions close December 1st 11:59 PDT.

FLASH SALE: Kindle Books

Hey, guys. So this weekend, we are having a flash sale on all Kindle books published by Paper Plane Pilot Publishing. The books are all $0.99 until 11:59 PM on 9/28. Have a kindle? Have a kindle app? Want to read some poetry and fiction (and see some photographs [in Cityscapes, our newest anthology]) by the Paper Plane Pilots? Check out the three books below for more details.

Don’t forget! The first 10 people to write an Amazon review on Cityscapes receives a FREE hard copy of Separate Instances of Loneliness, a chapbook of poems by r. miller. Just screenshot your review and send it on over to along with your mailing address, and we’ll get that mailed to you straight away.

First time running into us? Check out our page for free poetry, fiction, and art (all year round, no matter the season), as well as our free literary magazine for international, peer-reviewed poetry and fiction. We are an international collective providing creative writing and visual art to the internet since 2012.

Check us out on facebook for all of the latest news.
Also join our twitter party with Brian Andrade as your host.
We also have a very new (in diapers) international poetry channel.

Happy weekend! Hope to see you around, we always enjoy new faces.

Reasons to Never Return
Reasons to Never Return, our very first anthology. 2014
Separate Instances of Loneliness
Separate Instances of Loneliness, a chapbook of poems by r. miller (2015)
Cityscapes, our second most recent Paper Plane Pilots anthology. (2015)

Origin(al) sin

Turn your face to the dirt
and cut your vowels short,
bite down on every accent.
Wrap yourself in black,
make yourself an afterthought
a shadow, a wisp of displaced
atmosphere. Your name is going to be
the death of you,
your face is a portrait of falling.

Dye your skin a colder color
and douse your eyes in bleach.
We’ll stuff your mouth with
cigarettes and crooked phonemes,
but birthmarks always speak louder
than your broken intonations.

You, with the orange lip-
have you considered
a renaissance, an apostasy,
effacement of all trace
of your garish birth?
Let us help you, let us inject
your veins with fever and poison,
scald the shriveled viscera
burn your sin from inside-out.

Here we preach
the gospel of abandon
and the chanticleer’s poised
to cry- it’s time you denied
your photographs, your blood,
the black incision
carved above your heart.
Swear on a bible, the ocean,
the grave you dug,
tell us you don’t pray for wings
or thalassic tesserae.
Don’t waste your cherished time
dressing wounds in our shroud;
you’ll never learn
to stop bleeding through.

under cover(s)

i can hear your eyes saying
don’t let me leave i picture a
i picture a dark place for
our light to shine. i picture
a healing spring and you taking
a deep breath/a mental picture
of the moment before you
completely submerge in warmth

Election Season Is Coming

One trembling summer
eats another.

A passing resemblance
of a passing resemblance
passes like a fad.

To be a gadfly of the state
seems an overrated position,
but if the transition
is a breeze,
who am I to argue?

The constituents have spoken.

My hand,
the broken wheel,
the reeling headache:
these are the claims
we’ve staked,
so we must take care
not to be shaken
by the waning rays of sun.

Have fun with those hairy palms…

-r. miller


p a r c h e d 
                     tongue sticking to 
the roof of 
                    the mind.

i m a g i n a t i o n 	        stopped

in		 its		 tracks. 

there is no 

              stream of 

                       words or 



an		    empty             bus 


               waiting for 

purpose to 

              p o s s e s s 	       me. 

i want to lie in bed with you and watch the world end on the television

the world out there feels so far away. i want our world composed entirely of wood. lit by simple reading lights and soft swaying candles that touch the air with their fire. a simple touch. a small burn. a reminder that the world is a soul trapped in the process of motion. and here we are, taking advantage of its beauty while we sit entirely still, basking in the warmth of a now-home-heart-with-only-one-direction. (i am now a topographer. my heart holds the pencil. i etch images of you on every breathless tree. an obituary of love poems. resurrecting fallen trees with maps that lead to your soft breath mixing with mine.) i want to take you to a place where no one is watching and etch the word “home” in its skin. i want the world to freeze in its tracks as goosebumps dominate my limbs at the electric touch of your fingertips.