Issue #7
Hero by Tom Whalen

Every hero the writer must approach only approximately. The eyes, for example, must resemble Roman candles, like the eyes of the actors in Wilhelm Meister arriving at night in freight wagons before the castle of a count, as noted in Jean Paul’s School for Aesthetics.

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Strip Poker & Dybbuk by Jeff Friedman

My lover shuffles the deck, fanning the cards into a bridge. The cards arc like a rainbow, then fly wildly through the air like fish hurling out of the water into the mouths of bottled-nosed dolphins that leap to catch them in their hungry mouths.

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Kappa by Matthew Minicucci

It’s raining again, you say. Near flow and no-slip. Car on the curvature of space and time and boxed wine. Here: the clear empty well of a disappointed glance.

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Holiday Inn by Kathleen Nalley

After the bruised body recovered, after being shoved

into a car, after the knot in the temple subsided after

a platter of fried chicken smashed into her head, her

mamma took her girls to the Holiday Inn and hid.

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Five Prose Poems by Denise Duhamel

Once upon a time there was elaborate plumbing, then people started shitting in
the woods again. Once we worshipped goddesses who bore children—now we
want mothers back to work in twelve weeks.

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Suite X by Amy Breau

I was prepared to answer the first question, have you ever wanted to kill someone?


But it completely threw me off when they asked, have you ever wanted to keep


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Mom’s new boyfriend is a liver fluke by Cole Beauchamp

He attached quickly (can I buy you a drink, let’s hook up, sure I’ll meet your kid), slid into our house unnoticed (toothbrush here, pair of socks there) and two months on, here we are, host and Fasiola Herpatica.

Gallows Pole by Kathy Hoyle

In the dead of summer, while the whiptails hide in sagebrush shadows, and everything blisters in the amber heat and there ain’t nothin but buzzards hummin for miles around, a hanged man dances on a gallows pole.

You, Visitor by Jane O’Sullivan

You don’t like her much, not that you can tell her that. Slugging along behind you, hands in pockets. Sullen as a fish despite the fucking dawn rising over the city, the glory of it.

Carry On by Lucinda Kempe

Once there was a man who loved his donkey, but his donkey didn’t love him back. The donkey loved an eggshell, but the eggshell didn’t love it back.

Prudence by Christy Stillwell

They put the shock collar on the boy and that was it for the nanny. First they put the collar on one another. They were professors in English and Philosophy, all of them smart people.