October 2024
Volume 8, Issue 1
In this issue
Poetry
They Never Found the Source of the Blast Emanating from the Police Station
In bars over Zubrovka shots, old men / spoke of a second coming, an Armageddon, / a holy meeting in their town. / It was Wednesday after all, / so they’d…
Poetry
The Goat
I remember how it hung / by its back legs from the tree / the blood that had escaped / from the black smile of its slit throat / in an explosion at first…
Poetry
November in SoCal
This year, autumn feels too familiar; / the late afternoon breeze blows / one degree cooler as more leaves / turn gold on the pomegranate trees; / shadows…
Poetry
The Moon (XVIII)
(Smith-Waite Tarot) / Here’s another dream / where you wear armor / that’s ornate and fussy. / You wonder how you / acquired it, or why you need it, / but…
Poetry
Echoes of Clever People
'I don't mind / being mistaken for one / Of the shadows' / – Kevin Young, 'Altarpiece' / Would you recommend that readers / obtain a copy of the book or…
Poetry
I Think I May Have Read This
for Martin Stannard / Any chance of an apostrophe somewhere? / I’m always wary of rhetorical questions / when they sound like these.
Fiction
Absinthe and the Friendship Absolute
Men’s toes are a gross and ugly thing, and M’s were peeping through the cheap, flea market flip-flops.
Poetry
One Day Older
Each morning, I pull back our top sheet / and slide into the bed’s buttery softness.
Poetry
Baritone Twelve
He’s neither worst nor best, useful / for community choirs, but he yearns / for a solo.
By Sara Backer
Poetry
This Cold Morning
my brain forgot to think in words. / It was wonderful. / The sky, one huge cloud, released / the snow, rolling in silence / the way trees die, slowly, /…
By Sara Backer
Poetry
The Zombie Titular
Out of bed with a hurting head, there was an unexpected sign-in attempt, / eyes open, it seems I’m eligible for a prize, but only if I keep rising / to…
Poetry
Absolutely Not for Profit
Napoleon’s ghost tells me there are plenty / Of consolation prizes, just look around / And find the Elba of your dreams / I laugh and mention Helena, he…
Poetry
Failing Small Talk
I attempt to look nonchalant / leaning against the fence whilst I wait for you. / Instead, I brand my denim dress / with anti-vandal paint. / The taffy of…
Poetry
BE/LOVED
As I stood-smiled (alive) amongst / a line of lavender- (white-) blue / chosen to witness, / soothe-circulating song singed-softened our hearts. / A…
Poetry
The Only Church That Illuminates
Perhaps, you reflected, your creosote / perfume was not the optimal choice / for a night on the town with whiskey, / matches, lighter fluid.
Fiction
At First Light
She could see him sinking deep when she leaned over, his hands above his head still clenched like one big fist.
Poetry
Bildungsroman as Slasher Movie
Beautiful was the slasher movie / of my youth: the tumultuous shadows / under my bedroom door, the floorboards / absorbing more than trauma, / the kitchen…
Poetry
The Not Enough Blues
It takes a worried man to sing a worried song. / The Carter Family, Worried Man Blues, 1930 / It’s a lie you don’t have to worry: / pricks of uncertainty,…
Poetry
It’s Like a Near-Death Experience
to write about the sea – / chimes of seagulls, plovers, and hybrids I call sea-lovers, / chant while waiting for bits of bread. / It’s like walking…
Poetry
Eyes Straight Ahead
Only stone and rock could hold one person’s loss and another’s beauty forever. / – Michael Ondaatje / Any off-pitch halter hums the walls.
Poetry
Vanishing Hitchhiker
There’s still a highway / and more than enough land to traverse. / And cars of course. / Plus a whole lot of trucks. / But there is nobody at the side of…
By John Grey
Poetry
Beyond Where We’re At
I stroll from St. John the Baptist’s Cathedral / towards St. Giles on the hill. / Sunlight walks with me. / North Farm is a thousand miles from / these…
By Sean Chard
Creative criticism
Looking for Dermot Healy: A Trip to Sligo
The wind was too strong for an umbrella, so we wore our coats and hoped for luck as the sky threatened rain and the sun lowered into the Atlantic.
Poetry
Cave Dwellers
Crouched in the cold, / we filled caves with red handprints / to let you know we were here. / We felt our hearts beat, / stretched skin over hollow stone…
Poetry
The Number of Words I Speak
We stand beside the mottled white-gray tree bark admiring the trunk, the / complexion, the shade of that broad, strong tree.
Poetry
A Few Bucks Short
I know about silence / and the severance paid / with words, and the way / the currency is measured / in equity and not equality, / and how there is always…
Fiction
Townsend
[Fragment 3492] I’m on my way to the apartment, where my roommate Berto will be, illuminated by three screens, in his shirt and shorts, sometimes a canary…
Poetry
Written into the Earthen Contract
Perversions of thunder undress / the sky, exposing its essentials. / We cower in the study and count / the seconds between lightning / and its long…
Poetry
Nocturne in D
At three AM the dark thickens / and becomes almost edible. / Hard to breathe, though.
