Archive for ‘September, 2015’

Featured: Disturbance

Disturbance

Anders Villani

Into my new veal-skin Chelseas

I put my wallet, phone, and keys

to the flat, which was still bare.

 

I left them on the dock along with

my clothes and towel and a book of Mandelstam’s early poems

in English. Dove into the river.

 

When I got out, it was almost dark.

That par-dark seemed alloyed

to you. The water had risen nearer

the rim of the dock. Still, and warm.

 

Dozens of geese had gathered on the dock to roost.

I didn’t think I could be myself

without disturbing that mass repose

 

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Featured: Wherever You’re Going

Wherever You’re Going

Frank Haberle

This lady tells you that you just have to walk all the way out there to see it. So you walk all the way out there, and you see it. And then you start walking back. You have to walk out on another road, a single lane road winding up and down huge rocky hills, between stone walls, past barren fields and abandoned tractors. No cars ever come. You keep walking, all day, into a stiff cold wind. And it starts getting dark and the wind really picks up. And at last, a car drives …

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Featured: Masters of the Game

Masters of the Game

Monique Kluczykowski

My lover said there is a bonanza of bunnies

in Iowa City, right there in river city

 

but here in the Motor City there are murders, a murder

of crows darkly lying over the intrusion

 

of cockroaches into the bar where

a busyness of ferrets, deceitful lapwings,

 

huddle in one corner, a gulp of swallows,

leashed foxes athirst, fervent

 

to turn a buck, turn a page

on a poverty of pipers,

 

while outside the window planes

surge upward over burnt-out streets,

 

an exaltation of larks ascending

on incandescent …

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Featured: The Man Who Ate the World

THE MAN WHO ATE THE WORLD

After Fred Voss

 

If the street played a violin it would sound like secrets from damned men and throb like bones of sparrows sighting the axe. It would deafen like the howling pack who grieve for earths pale Mother bloodied in the days last throes. If our roads were flesh they would be lifelines of migrants hands painting asphalt Picassos from meadow to sky scraping abbatoirs of lions and lambs. If our sky was for sale the stars would be sued by Murdoch for breach of copyright, if the sea was a woman …

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From the Issue: The Shattered Glass

The Shattered Glass

Angel LaCanfora

This is the time of the shattered glass-
The drain clogged with the hairs of my
cares and worries and outside, snow is flurrying
and I slosh through the slurry of mourning-
every noon and night.

This is the time of the shattered glass-
Green bottles breaking.
I’m trying to reach for your hand
but mine’s bandaged too tight.
I’m like a pilot light airplane crashing
into an empty home on a hillside forest.

This is the time of the shattered glass-
Champagne flutes and busted guitars litter
the floor after the celebration and gyrations …

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Featured: Heron

Heron

 

silent but for wind against exquisite bones,

bird that flies alone along the same line

as in days of brighter sun,

before the coming of the night and snow,

before the blue lament

of letting go

 

 

John P. Kristofco, from Highland Heights, Ohio, is professor of English and the former

dean of Wayne College in Orrville. His poetry, short stories, and essays have appeared

in over a hundred different publications, including: Folio, Rattle, The Bryant Literary Review, The Cimarron Review, Poem, Grasslimb, Iodine, Small Pond, The Aurorean,  Ibbetson Street, Blue Unicorn, Blueline, and Sheepshead Review. He has …

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Letter from the Editors, Fall 2015, Issue 7

IN THE FIRST YEAR AND A HALF SINCE WE BECAME A MAGAZINE, we have published poems, stories, essays and artwork by over 100 different authors, featured written and audio versions of creative work on our blog and run our very first prose contest. Having lived in several different cities, we realize that every city has its ups and downs. Whether it is the weather or the public transit or just the people you spent time with there, each city has its own unique blend of wonderful and gritty, inspiring and burdensome.

For our first contest, we sought stories and essays …

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