fall 2015
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageYellow Flowers The World Dream Ann Filemyr
what do you talk about desire derives pleasure aren't we missing every thing gary lundy
A Monday The Devil Valentina Cano
In the Cyberspace Icicle Changming Yuan
QED A Moth In Rain Christopher Patton
Fault Vodka / Blame Juice Jamie Sharpe
revenge/reincarnation annie ross
Darkening Over Still Water Richard King Perkins II
Alcohol Fast-slow Continuum Peycho Kanev
(Ouverture) Garry Thomas Morse
The Insidious Susurration A Conversation Marie-Andree Auclair
Why, And for What Purpose Is There Something Ace Bogess
Word on the Street Henry Rappaport
The Day Everyone Realized Ron Riekki
Girl I Girl II Carolyn Supinka
a rose is a rose is a rose manhattan Nikki Reimer
A Fire Hydrant on Camino de la Amapola Good to See You Eleanor Kedney
Brains Lost to the Earth Melissa Nelson
The Story of Chitin Giri Zoe Dagneault
Saturday Night Charles Springer
Can't Stomach Mitchell Grabois
The Stale Cold Smell of Morning Angela Rebrec
the neighbors knew i divined water Hell is hot Allison DeLauer
Girl II
She is that drink I stir. That field we pass
on the way home every night. It is a clearing
rimmed with white birches, stark lines of tree bodies
like steam escaping from cracks in the soft earth.
She once said she saw a phoenix rise from that clearing,
and even though she was making it up we could see it too.
Think of little girls picturing a phoenix.
Who told us about these birds on fire?
I didn’t picture it on fire, but glad.
Whoever gets to burn like that must be glad,
rising like clockwork. That field.
I think it would be cool. I think it would be soft as blue velvet,
impervious to wrinkles and time.
The fabric of that field stretches in my mind,
offers its body as a blanket for me to press my cheek to.
It’s a place I’ve never been, but I want to return to, again and again,
until I have a reason to stop, and let myself in.