Monthly Archives: January 2016

Coffee, poem by Rebecca Schumejda

One of the only main­stays on Broad­way is Burg­er King, where I get my morn­ing cof­fee. Some­how the man­ag­er, Tony, always sneaks in the exact num­ber of days he has left until retire­ment. Some­times the weath­er is unbear­ably hot or … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Gun at the End of the Night, fiction by Paul Heatley

It was Sat­ur­day night. The bar was full. Bish­op didn’t like it. He didn’t like week­end drinkers. He sat alone at the cor­ner of the counter, nurs­ing a bot­tle of beer that had gone warm in his hand. A cou­ple … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Gratitude, fiction by Ace Boggess

  “My breath tastes like cof­fee and cig­a­rettes,” I said, smack­ing my tongue against the roof of my mouth in a ges­ture of dis­gust. The old man looked at me and grinned, his pol­ished-sil­ver beard a sec­ond, wider smile beneath … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Flaming White Trash Stunt Spectacular, fiction by Seth Cherniak

  Junior sat on the wob­bly met­al steps of the baby roller coast­er. In his left hand was a swift­ly melt­ing, tox­ic look­ing blue snow cone which had stained his dirty t-shirt, mouth, teeth and tongue. In his right hand … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Kentucky Sonnet, poem by Chris Prewitt

Down past the moon­lit bell tow­er Down past the road that ends at a moun­tain I come to know my body pre­pared to lose every­thing Father if I wore your blue suit to your funer­al I don’t remem­ber I met … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Not Quite Glengarry, poem by Jeanetta Calhoun Mish

At 8am, my friend dropped me off in front of a non­de­script yel­low­ish strip-mall build­ing at the crum­bled edge of Lit­tle Rock; the park­ing lot most­ly emp­ty. Peo­ple with per­son­able voic­es need­ed. No expe­ri­ence nec­es­sary. Apply today. I was try­ing … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Still Life with Tilt, fiction by C.C. Russell

(orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished in Oys­ter Boy Review) “I guess if my life was a paint­ing, It’d have to be one of a girl with rat­ty hair play­ing a pin­ball game.”  Her head tilt­ed back as she blew smoke into the air.  … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Poems by Jessie Janeshek

Coun­try Music Yard’s bald of flood. Rain botch­es the night pours through Steve McQueen’s tomb, Ten­nessee lou­vers. I try to decide this tight vow, your part­ing since I can’t for­get the look in his eyes when we fucked read­ing Niet­zsche. … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Poetry by John Brantingham

A Mem­o­ry of Smoke Today, these moun­tains are full of the smoke com­ing off of the sum­mer foothills, sum­mer being the moment of fire in Cal­i­for­nia, and we who were trained about the hor­ror of for­est fire by Smokey Bear … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Poems by Daniel Crocker

City of Bones the worst thing we've ever seen Robert Bow­cock, envi­ron­men­tal inves­ti­ga­tor and col­league of Erin Brock­ovich (speak­ing of Lead­wood, Mis­souri) I. The bones bro­ken bleached cages just down the street the new weeds grow a strange green The … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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