Author: admin

A PRIVATE MOON BY R. NIKOLAS MACIOCI

Smoke from a neighbor’s bonfire drifts into my yard. He’s burning leaves and logs, has invited me over this evening for a wiener roast, and though I appreciate the invitation, I declined. I want to be alone when I...

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THE FIRST HORSEMAN BY CHRISTOPHER L. DORNIN

Kurt Lurvey parks in his wheelchair at the front door to St. John’s Church and repeats, over and over, “Have a nice day.” Clearly he does. His congregation must. I watch nearby to stay out of his way. He wears a blue life...

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WOLVES BY CHRISTOPHER L. DORNIN

Kurt Lurvey interrupts two surgeons in the hospital elevator debating spine procedures. He advises them his scoliosis job went well. He wore a halo brace screwed to his skull and shows them the scars. The docs stiffen. Then...

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WORDS BY JENNIFER GURNEY

I love reading poetry getting filled by a single prodigious line that can and does captivate me for days fleshy tears of strong leaves pushing up into air* unfurls something in me a connection to another time, space, experience...

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WAITING IN THE WINGS BY JENNIFER GURNEY

poems written on the page waiting in the wings nervous-excited to step on stage once they hear their cue enter stage left into bright lights all nerves and false bravado once the first line is delivered the rest gushes out the...

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MAYBE THERE WAS A CAR BY DAVID PUNTER

Do you remember the days my love/when we used to swoon at the fresh-cut/smell of petrol and we’d load up the soft-top/black and bronze shiny shiny/head out on the highway in our dreams/before you became an accountant, or perhaps...

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BLIND SUMMIT BY DAVID PUNTER

Pulling out onto a shallow bend on a blind summit/not really knowing whether there is a vehicle approaching (but it would be perfectly safe if the vehicle were not speeding)/it could be that I will fail for once to repress the...

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A MEASURE OF SMOKE BY LINDA CARADINE

You wake up one morning and you’re 70 years old. You see clearly that life is terrifying and fleeting. You find yourself in a world where kids don’t know how to ride a bike or tell time on an analog clock. You’re not sure you...

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CONFOUNDED BY TRACY JOHNS

I deem it a cruel twist of my existence to encounter so often a flinted paradox too exquisitely tuned to my softness to be random. What kind of omnipotence imparts a deep peace to be in a house made of wood, and then horror to...

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