fall 2015
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageFault Vodka / Blame Juice Jamie Sharpe
The Stale Cold Smell of Morning
Angela Rebrec
Yellow Flowers
The World Dream
Ann Filemyr
In the Cyberspace Icicle Changming Yuan
Brains Lost to the Earth Melissa Nelson
Word on the Street
Henry Rappaport
a rose is a rose is a rose manhattan Nikki Reimer
revenge/reincarnation annie ross
The Story of Chitin Giri Zoe Dagneault
Why, And for What Purpose
Is There Something
Ace Bogess
Darkening Over Still Water Richard King Perkins II
Alcohol
Fast-slow Continuum
Peycho Kanev
A Fire Hydrant on Camino de la Amapola
Good to See You
Eleanor Kedney
Can't Stomach Mitchell Grabois
(Ouverture) Garry Thomas Morse
what do you talk about
desire derives pleasure
aren't we missing every thing
gary lundy
QED A Moth In Rain Christopher Patton
A Monday The Devil Valentina Cano
Saturday Night
Charles Springer
The Day Everyone Realized Ron Riekki
the neighbors knew i divined water
Hell is hot
Allison DeLauer
Girl I
Girl II
Carolyn Supinka
The Insidious Susurration
A Conversation
Marie-Andree Auclair
Is There Something You Are Not Telling Me?
question asked by Greg Leatherman
I sit on a stone bench & let the smoke paralyze me
as I watch a minor spider balance on its silk
between two weeds, a black swallowtail
draw a magic-marker streak at my peripheral.
It’s not that I don’t want to share these things—
mine in the context of my being there.
What should I say about each forced pause
to take nature in, five minutes at a time?
Just now, a doe ambled up the road,
three speckled fawns following close
in duckling single-file. The last limped,
wrestling with death to keep her mother’s pace.
Forgive me if I didn’t plan to speak of this.
My hand grew tired from cradling its butt.
My pen fell asleep on a table in the house.