by Andrew Furst it strikes me how people who want to stay the same have to change so much. so much, that the tides seem to move with them, a busy kind of inertia. i’ve seen them happy, i’m sure of it. cleaning their gutters and mowing their lawns. savoring…
by Alex Carrigan After Erik Fuhrer. For Cici Cooper, Scream 2 (1997) Sober Sistersitting on thesofa surfing channelspast the static,suppressingthe silence ofthe sorority house.Sober Sistersacrifices a nightof shots, slipsof tongues in kisses,sentimental momentsof a sorority life.Sober Sisterspeaks on the phoneto a stranger,stumped to findshe’s specifiedto die tonight.Sober Sister,sinner in the…
by Peter Mladinic No, you’re not bothering me at all. Waiter, another coffee. It’s open-ended.All I say, all my narrator says is Annaand Gurov went on meeting in hotelsin various cities. They can’t be togetheras a married couple, but they can betogether. Alive and willing to rendezvousat times, in places of…
by Stasha Powell Even then, I wrote delusions, nightmares easier to slip into than face the truth. I traced perfect curves on crooked lines, lost in the rhythm, losing time, punctuation a casualty in the chaos of my mind. I hid secret friends in the cracks of fantasy, their whispers easier to hear than the noise outside. Phone calls…
by Joan Mazza You are the master of your unspoken words, but a slave to the words you have spoken. ~Winston Churchill To hold a small treasure hidden in the palm or pocket,to know no one knows what you know, the delicate,intricate details of lacework, net of devious deceptions, distractions,…
by D.R. James A butterfly’s flapping over Costa Rica,it’s sometimes considered, could initiatethe chain that leads to tornados in Toledo,hopping and ripping the heartfrom every-other quotidian home. Or maybe its deft stretch-and-glidecould instigate the violent Mississippi’ssurprising rise beyond its subtle, stolid realm—the dainty queen behind that vast rebellion. So I…
by Blake Kilgore I teach my students the SocraticMethod – questions on questions, thepickaxe, the shovel, the digging down, downto the truth. An honorable path, onethat can lead to some light. I also introduce Mithridates, the Pontic Kingwho drank poisons, day after day,against fear of lovers, assassins,anyone who might harm…
by James Croal Jackson we need not gatherrice in the trash stickywith friends’ handsstill friends their handsa question of study whatwe collect with these rakesour long limbs in themuddy puddle of breath
by D.R. James Life has been a grand migrationto where you are today! –well known wisdom I didn’t know! Otherwise,when those raggedy squadronsclamored overhead last evening— three V’s disarrayedlike frayed arrow feathers, their leaders insistent as clownswith braying horns, honkingfor plane geometry— I would have…
by James Croal Jackson The blue plaster walls are crackingwhich we should have been able to see as long asthis house has stood. I catch us looking different directions on the highway, cars zippingthrough; we nearly collide something cosmic. Meaning our souls are ready to ascendfrom our bodies to some…