By: Lynn White All those lost people wandering the streets, perambulating among the purposeful passers by. Loose souls, dreaming products waiting to be fixed in frames, or pencilled in, placed on a page, or stage, stabilised, finished by my hand….
By: Lynn White Once I was whole. Complete. Unbroken. Once I breathed air. Once I walked. I spoke, I smiled, I looked sad. Yes, once I had feelings. And then, my sadness was selected. Chosen and frozen in it’s beauty….
By: Steve Slavin 1 Helene knew for sure that there was not someone for everyone. She could even prove it. Helene does not remember much about her parents. An automobile accident left her orphaned when she was just four year old….
At West Wing desk, Reince Priebus takes a collect call and summons President Trump to answer. By: Chuck Orloski “It’s Joaquin,” said El Chapo. “Remember me?” (an untypical pensive silent delay) “Oh, you mean the guy who played Johnny Cash in…
By: Allison Grayhurst In the hourglass I see a cloud that greys the city. I see people at their art shows, theatre shows and antique shops blowing on their blankets in hopes of holding off winter, in hopes of never looking…
By: Allison Grayhurst It doesn’t matter what field you run on, or who has your shoes. All that matters is that you keep moving over the hardly visited terrain where garden snakes and mosquitoes thrive. None of them will kill you,…
By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick 83 degrees, sunny Beloved spot Golden rays shine Beaming upon bronzed skin Pool enticing Gnawing in her stomach Ambiguous uneasiness Disconcerted Distinct days No laughter No smiles No traditions Sparkling lights fill the space Emptiness permeates…
By: Chuck Orloski Activate him by flip-of-a-switch, and so many packages move from conveyor to pallet… and shrink wrapped! Born in Shenzhen Silicon Valley, he is ageless, never slothful, he’s come to save mankind from its unproductive sins. He requires no…
By: Robert S. King Tonight I’ve come to watch my mother die or someone they say is her, who matches no photograph now, who gropes like a child for her mother’s arms, for the mercy of a God who, like a…
By: Robert S. King In his worn-thin army fatigues, Daddy is drunk on moonshine. He’s lost many jobs but never a battle. His eyes aim their barrels at me. A tattoo on his right arm says The baby is dead. Mama…