Author Archives: Rusty

Hangin’ Out at the Git and Go, poetry by Jason Ryberg

Hangin’ Out at the Git and Go The moon tonight is the lone, pink sodi­um street light of one more no name, gas sta­tion / grain ele­va­tor town with no bar, no din­er, no movie the­ater (since 1980-some­thing), noth­ing to do on a Fri­day or a Sat­ur­day … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Wrong Kind of Rain, fiction by Steve Lambert

Bill stood up and pock­et­ed his hand­ker­chief, looked up at the grey sky, and watched three turkey buz­zards glide a low, loose cir­cle direct­ly over­head and, in the dis­tance, high above the lemon grove to his right, he could just … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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War Whips It Out in Public

which may give you a bet­ter sense of what I'm look­ing for here at FCAC.   War Whips it Out in Pub­lic In the night a war steps in the room, a toad­y­ing lick­spit­tle war with bad teeth, a sav­ior com­plex and spindly … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Tin Pedals, fiction by Lucas Flatt

Shuck’s plan was fuck­ing stu­pid. Every­body told him so, though “every­one” meant only his guilty con­science and the imag­i­nary Jiminy Crick­et voic­es of his semi-girl­friend Mag­gie and best friend Doc and his dog Bis­cuit, all in his head say­ing: “Jesus … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Budweiser Blues, fiction by Cecile Dixon

Bud­weis­er Blues by Cecile Dixon Lar­ry When my olé lady, Kourt­ney run off with Dwayne, I took to drink­ing beer. A lot of beer. I still got up every morn­ing and went to work. My broth­er Jimmy’s sheet rock busi­ness didn’t … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Epiphany, fiction by Larry Thacker

Epiphany. That’s exact­ly what it was like. An epiphany. It was 2:46 in the morn­ing. I know this because I’d start­ed play­ing a lit­tle game with myself try­ing to guess the time at night as I woke up off and … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Colonel, fiction by Kurt Taylor

A hun­dred times the Colonel had walked into Rip’s bar­ber shop and nobody had ever stared at him until now. The Colonel felt the tat­tooed kid’s eyes track­ing him as he walked to the chair wear­ing his Army uniform.the Rip … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The NIght Dick Clark Actually Died, fiction by F. John Sharp

Do you remem­ber that time I swore I’d heard that Dick Clark had died and you said you hadn’t. I said, “It was on NBC, and why would NBC tell me Dick Clark was dead when Dick Clark wasn’t dead?” … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Two Poems, by Matthew Borczon

Some­thing you don’t see every day Miller was telling me that his moth­er had used rope pul­leys and a cement block to build the per­fect sui­cide she had tied a plas­tic bag over her head then pushed the cement block off the bed and … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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April 5, 2022, 11:13 PM, prose by Bart Solarczyk

I got the 2nd anniver­sary of Tami’s death creep­ing up on me in less than an hour, one tic past mid­night. I have a sense of dread & ris­ing anx­i­ety, like I’m going to break when it arrives. It didn’t … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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