Winter 2015

IN THIS ISSUE
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Poetry
Aanya Sheikh-Taheri
“Home,” “My First Apartment,” and “Teddy Bear Cove”
“I want the smoke, the flame, the doom – I want burnt candle wicks in every room.”

Bud Faust
“Like Being Evel Knievel or Jesse James”
“For the record, she didn’t leave me, she told me to get the fuck out, and being told to get the fuck out is a hell of a lot cooler.”

C.Steven Manley
“I Remember”
“I remember Tony, bee, girls, and hotel rooms that would never be the same again, loud music, dark Chicago alleys, and bloody knuckles.”

Kenneth Salzmann
“Small Round Words”

“The poems are piling up in plain pine boxes; they’re lining unmarked graves and fluttering like ash.”

Peter Bradley
“Espalier”

“Then one day she decided she was ripe for the picking.”

Sandy Coomer
“How We Fit”

“We are both more than our bones.”

Sara Fetherolf
“Childhood Bedroom, Third Town” and “How to Steal the Strawberries”

“You can’t be sorry – that’s what they want, the men in suits who give wet change and don’t listen to a verse.”

Stephanie Porven
“Tangerine Love” and “The Big Easy”

“Raw as her heels after walking cobbled streets in new red pumps beneath rusted balconies draped in strings of purple, gold, and green.”

Prose
Cameron Hagler
“Bienville Plantation”

“Like most people, they don’t seem to know what lurks below the surface.”

Daniel DiFranco
“When You Find Yourself at the Center of the Earth”

“A week later, a month later. A year. It didn’t matter.”

Tim Buchanan
“Tupperware Lady”

“She looked at me like I was something she didn’t understand, her face caught somewhere between love and disgust.”

Zachary Woodard
“Androcide”

“His hands were outstretched, trailing after the passersby like the tails of comets.”

And artwork by Andreas Lie.

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