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- X23Eping on Hangin’ Out at the Git and Go, poetry by Jason Ryberg
- John A Jancewicz on The Hills are Alive, essay by Anna Lea Jancewicz
- JBird on Tin Pedals, fiction by Lucas Flatt
- Jim J Wilsky on Everything is Relative, fiction by Michael Bracken
- LINDA MCQUARRIE-BOWERMAN on Two Poems, by Matthew Borczon
Monthly Archives: November 2016
PALE LEMON FIRE IN A PARTLY CLOUDY AUTUMN, poem by Dennis Mahagin
Nearly noon, on Thursday late October, and I see the trees swaying within a wind that means only business, no fragrant breeze here, no idle burlesque: merely rote screams, blue note egress from boughs with foresight and worse, they bite back the bark in street … Continue reading
Lady Smith, fiction by Jim Wilsky
The third day on the run, they ditched a stolen pickup truck in the sprawling parking lot and then waited outside the doors of Nordstrom’s. Less than an hour later, they were turning out of Springtown Mall in a black … Continue reading
The Property of Bug-Eyed Motherfucker, story by Wynne Hungerford
Apache Springs the crossroads was known as, and for miles around the land was called Apache Springs also. There was a single saloon at the crossroads next to a boarding house with its roof rotted from the nightly urine of … Continue reading
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Tagged story, the property of bug-eyed motherfucker, wynne hungerford
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Three-Man-Operation, poem by Mathews Wade
Papaw’s ranch ain’t so much a ranch but a two man operation with his neighbor Terry, whose wife is also named Terry, just two men rubbin pennies, joined by fences mended with zip-ties, where strung-out race horse rescues populate junked-fields & hunting … Continue reading
Francis Alexander Finch, poem by Carl Boon
Francis Alexander Finch tilts his plastic dinner plate against the hard light of Hazelton Prison, reasoning the details of his rape case and limiting the movement of a single black ant. His mother, JoAnne Daphne Finch, has exited the grounds and leans on … Continue reading
Pavement, poem by Heather Sullivan
We walked to the bakery on the corner, you and I hand in hand. I’d promised you a cookie, and myself a chance to clear my head from the workday strife. My longer commute used to give me time to rage against the … Continue reading
