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Category Archives: Poetry
Margaret Kingsbury After I reach the end of a fairy tale For a moment, I could not remember some magic I’d left behind. Poor fool, I thought, to have let such a thing slip from memory, like the name of … Continue reading
Rebecca Buchanan Excerpt from The Explorers Guild Essential Handbook: Librarian’s Edition [Subsection I: 1-9 “Appropriate Attire and Supplies”] Apprentice librarians should take note and begin gathering all of the required materials now. Junior librarians should have their bags out-fitted … Continue reading
Alan Ray Simmons People Dropping Dead in the Mall Parking Lot I pass three dead bodies in the mall parking lot, people dropping dead from extreme heat. Seniors are the first to go. Flies don’t drop like old folks do. Damn … Continue reading
Jennifer Crow Villa Abbandonata Everything becomes ‘after’ at this point, when doors hang open on broken hinges and luxuries large and small grow mold, begin to decay. Vermin invade boudoir and great room, gnawing like hunger. The chef’s kitchen deteriorates … Continue reading
M.C. Childs Those who leave Hexagram Pi, Holding Together Earth embers glimmering, we circle the campfire called Saturn. We kindle each other. Those who leave, let them leave. They are sparks bickering with stars. Godspeed. _______________ M.C. Childs is interim … Continue reading
David C. Kopaska-Merkel Flying The wax held Despite the heat But his arms were so tired! He dodged prominences bigger than his native land (Many would have dwarfed Olympus And the imperishable city At its peak). His goal … Continue reading
Ann K. Schwader Dark Matter Haunts Us Dark matter haunts us, night by night, implacable as Marley’s chains, equations never coming right. That meager five percent our sight perceives? All real, yet more remains – dark matter haunts us. … Continue reading
Phoebe Low Executive You never forget the taste of throat-blood, specifically— your lips pressed to living warmth, your teeth slid slow into the lush, trembling tide. Even in boardrooms stiff with dark suits, you salivate at a collarbone’s hollow, the … Continue reading
Simon Perchick * No, it’s about the sun and a sore that opens :every morning is already swollen, weak, clouded over wobbling from some near-by breeze reaching down as the hillside where her shadow should be though there’s … Continue reading