By: Paweł Markiewicz the last autumn – beejust before epiphanybeehive fulfilled?bee looking at fallin the beehive – wingsand the timeless dreamed sparksmeek bees as heroesqueen bee in ruminationmarvel of buzzingan autumnal beesleeping or awakening – time?beehive as templefall adorationthe bee…

By: Carl Papa Palmer In her quest to become a trimmer chickRose chose this slick trick and got slimmer quickshe ate nothing at all‘cept soup sipped thru a strawwhile humming the lines of this limerick

By: A Byrd Called Bird Wheeling in a chaos-scapeShe flutters down the winding streetSlipping between the empty people,Before she turnsLike the hand bursting from the lakeCrowning clouds with glittering diadems of frozen pearlsBedecking them in the manner of dancing girlsThe…

By: Jamie Nguyen Pulora Court I walk up and down Pulora Court every turning day,once when the sun rears its laughing head, once when it dips beyond the dusky horizon. Twelve mismatched iclers, six perside, shaded by color pencils stolen…

By: Charles Varani I              Kenneth had invited me along for a picnic, along with Miko, his wife then, at the reservoir outside of town. I’d met Kenneth in college and we had been friends since. At the reservoir, Kenneth…

By: J.K. Durick Desert I’ve never been on a desert, you know the kind,But I can picture me out in it. The sand as far asAs I can see, the intense sun, some wind swirlingAbout the sand, and there I…

By Russell Eisenman, Ph.D.  Ted Bundy, the famous serial killer, was once in an abnormal psychology class that I taught, years ago at Temple University.  I did not know it was him at the time, but from subsequent photographs and…

By: Jim Bates “Sorry to have to tell you this,” Doctor Jensen said, not looking all that sorry, “but you’ve got celiac sprue.” Celiac what? It sounded serious. “Am I going to die?” I asked, cutting to the chase along…

By: Sterling Warner I:         First Dysfunctional Confession “Bless me Father for I have sinned; this is my first confession,” I began, knowing I’d correctly uttered my lines. During the past few days, I practiced delivering mock confessions to my brother…

By Hayden Sidun For the seventh time that day, the wooden cuckoo bird came out of its birdhouse and sang its typical song. Terrence often thought about what an appropriate title would be for such a beautiful song. Perhaps the…