By: Gale Acuff Miss Hooker is my girlfriend in my dream and I’m on one knee proposing, my right because my left is bad but if it took a little more pain to pop it I would, that’s how much I…
By: Gale Acuff In the middle of her story about Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life I fell in love with Miss Hooker, she’s my Sunday School teacher and death’s hard enough to live with but to think that it will…
By: Gary Van Haas How Noble Are We… Who move our brothers & sisters to battle, Bone, blood and flesh lay ridden o’er the fields. How Noble Are We… To live in conjecture and false premise, allowing blackened politicians rule…
By: Lorna Wood Now when I wake up and see the sun, relentlessly bright on the leaves, it glares a threat as I remember. When I write, I must ask myself, Will this help? When I play music, the same. When…
By: Rob Chirico My books on magic? The Waite, the Yeats, the Blavatsky? All gone. After all, what is magic but the art of making things disappear. My feat was not art of artifice, it was truth. And, truth be told,…
This month marks the 70th anniversary of the death of Wolfgang Borchert, a young German writer who was seriously wounded in World War II then imprisoned for resistance activities. Physically destroyed, he lived only two years after the war. During…
By: Adrian Slonaker Wolves should be snarlingly brutal, not pining meekly for your meaty feet shod with Earth shoes. Wolf-tails shouldn’t wag when wolf-ears are stroked by your bloodstone- and onyx-ringed fingers. Wolves should display dominance, not yielding to tameness when…
By: Adrian Slonaker Peering at a prosaic painting on the ceiling, I want to tap my digits to Dusty Springfield while I’m on my back, and my chompers get scraped to panda-eyed pathos. The chanteuse wants to stay awhile, but months…
By: Jami Miller A solar eclipse lassoed my windshield to Colorado flowers lingering on I-70, while the interstate whispered, “escape,” and Atlanta hid in a corner of my rearview. I chose to chase the sun and run from the moon through…
By: Jami Miller I have learned how to bow down to tombstones from all the skeletons who have undressed before me, the headless dandelions that snuck away with the wind, and the carnations thrown under the skin of the earth. I…