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Poetry
Dan Riley
I walked with a man with a walking stick hand, a suitcase for eyeballs and a sock full of sand. Drank tea in a cave by a cherry stone laith, played chequers with adders, hammers and spanners. Crooned for the crows by a pile of old bones ate...

Poetry
Maire Carr
Holy Mary, Mother of God, how does your garden grow? An unholy tomb, A garden in Tuam. Blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus, Blessed is the fruit of thy womb. . You fight tooth and nail for the unborn child atop your pedestal, From foundations built on...

Short Fiction
Jeff Bagato
Stolen stories translated into new language—a language never before spoken—never to be spoken—the unspoken present time. Immediate words exist before signs. All language is past time. All past time is dead time. Language of past is language of future. Pussy is...

Short Fiction
Jim Meirose
Doctor Sax sat waiting for Stannie with four and a half minutes to go. Idly he sat watching the fast ping-pong game his apprehension regarding this lesson had conjured to distract him. Identical faceless players volleyed the ball super-intensely so that...

Serial Fiction
Bryan Higby and Ricky D. Snyder
Chapter Two Rob Wash removed a joint from between his thick brown lips as he ran one calloused hand through his graying nappy hair watching those two fellas, John Friend and the local DJ cat, Randy Bliss, push...

Short Fiction
Kenneth Nolan
The beginning of April and a hint of good weather had begun to appear. Springtime has arrived I thought to myself and a lightening of the mood struck me. According to all predictions a beautiful summer lay ahead. I felt my...

Short Fiction
David King
When I woke up, she was looking at me. “Let’s do it again,” she said. And we did. When I woke up, she was looking at me. The blades of the fan above us turned slowly in the humid air. “I want you,” she said, soft...

Short Fictiion
Jim Meirose
Math final exams are held at four p.m. Class meeting TTH eleven is assigned module ten. Be prompt. Rise please first. Obey promptly or face punishment. Mental of course; module ten, yes yes yes; memorize this. Immediately memorize this. No don’t...

Serial Fiction
Bryan Higby and Ricky D. Snyder
Prologue The CarLowDen Golf Course sat back in the trees somewhere between Jericho’s Junkyard and Chesterton’s Cemetery. Around these parts we call the cemetery a boneyard. There was a huge real-estate sign dug into the rutty green lawn...

Short Fiction
Jim Meirose
Summer air music drift. What’s that from, where’s it from; it’s saxophone practice must be because it’s slow awkward and halting et cetera it’s from that slanting down sagging apart tiny empty blue house forever; but somehow it something I’ll remember...