We are a slipshod collective of marble designers who, after discovering a dictionary, decided to put our puny thumbs into the vast parking lot of modern letters.  We seek innovative work, both in poetry and prose, work that quivers nervously for attention, work that teethes endlessly on doorknobs.  We could toss out a laundry list of writers we like—from Spicer to Borges, or O'Connor to O'Hara—but it would only leave you confused.  The best way to understand our editorial preferences is to read the journal.  alice blue is published quarterly out of a small apartment somewhere in Seattle, Washington.