Author Archives: Rusty

A Wave of the Burger, by Dale Wisely

I'm in my patrol car and I ges­ture to let a big guy, dusted with white paint, make a left in front of me. He's dri­ving an old pickup bur­dened by lad­ders. There is a thick layer of debris on the … Con­tinue read­ing

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Two Poems, by Larry Thacker

I swim the vac­uum between your atoms sing along the dark mat­tered strands between galax­ies beyond imag­i­na­tion wit­ness­ing the base pat­tern of all worlds the mys­tery scripts hang­ing orna­mented about your thoughts I hum under your feet within the val­leys … Con­tinue read­ing

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Indian ID, fiction by Eric Ramseier

I have this plas­tic lam­i­nated card that says I'm an Indian.  It has my name on it, the tribe I'm from—some kind of Chero­kee, and my pic­ture.  It needs my pic­ture because I don't look like an Indian at all.  … Con­tinue read­ing

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Appalachians, by GC Smith

Moun­tain folk I see them every­where. In the cities now. On the streets. In the pool rooms, bars, fightin' clubs. Inswank hotels. Still back in the Piney woods. I see them dri­vin' pick up trucks. Dri­ving BMWs. Endur­ing peo­ple. Fight­ing for the … Con­tinue read­ing

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Two Poems by Teisha Dawn Twomey

Wan­derun­lust I want to believe in truck stop din­ers blue­berry pan­cakes, vaca­tion vil­lages on the way to never ever again land. By morn­ing, I’d think any place could be home. I con­tinue to carry old key chains with me. They fail to … Con­tinue read­ing

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Goosy Gus and the Cash Mob, fiction by William Trent Pancoast

(orig­i­nally appeared in Revolver) Gus had acquired the name “Goosy” because of his shell shock and bat­tle fatigue from WWII and now he was no longer allowed in his daughter-in-law’s donut shop in down­town Cranston even though eat­ing donuts was … Con­tinue read­ing

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Squeaky Wheel Gets the Nitrous Oxide, poem by Dennis Mahagin

Carry on, wis­dom, as if eye teeth depended, floss, floss, don't let them fit you for insane. Lips make a purse, spit out the Jolly Rancher, get on your bike again. Rot­ten molars, a hail of bul­lets. My hygien­ist is buy­ing an … Con­tinue read­ing

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And Rapture, fiction by Sheldon Lee Compton

There was this time I thought Gabriel was blow­ing his horn and dive-bombing me into Hell.  Turned out it was a Mack coal truck across the road at Dale Trivette’s Truck­ing pulling onto Route 610. I was in bed and think­ing … Con­tinue read­ing

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Parade, fiction by Henry Hope

I can’t abide this shit. I can’t and I won’t.” Desmond, my mother’s new boyfriend, jabs his oily knob of a fin­ger into my fore­head. His breath is com­ing in rapid lit­tle spurts, a sign, I have learned, that his … Con­tinue read­ing

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Harry Crews' Unfinished Novel, poem by Dale Wisely

Harry real­ized then that the book was so inti­mate that all he could do was mark his place with a thumb, close the man­u­script, look out the win­dow, and try not to cry because, he said, it’s so damn close … Con­tinue read­ing

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