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INTERVIEWS An Interview With Halvor Aakhus by David Hoenigman
REVIEWS Body of a Dancer by Renée E. D’Aoust Damascus by Joshua Mohr Compartments: Poems on Nature, Femininity and Other Realms by Carol Smallwood Small Press Shout-Outs, Tiny Hardcore Edition: So You Know It’s Me + Steal Me For Your Stories
FLASH FICTION Groceries by Amy Abig Solo by Sacha Siskonen Voltage by Meg Tuite
NOVEL EXCERPTS Flatscreen by Adam Wilson
SHORT STORIES Well Baby by Kristin Matly Dennis
POETRY Crow by Michael Bazzett Four Poems by Alyse Bensel DREAM AND DUST OFFERING by Dusan Colovic Affinity: An Actual English Sonnet
» Continue reading April 2012 Issue…
I’m going to faint by madness intercepted pump my neuroses full of unabridged diction. Rush goes the weasel wearing a tinfoil tri-corner hat where the Woolworth’s in Greensboro used to be my full mimosa tea is a pitcher of bargained hurt.
If a Friday brings a sprig of Whitman lilac to you, keep it. But remembering his political about-face song of myself tickles bellies in a David Duke flash-mob
as you wait on the would-be rocker exchanging what’s left of you with tin Christmas trees on the boulevard. Puddles of tangerines, of nervous sleep, of 12 finches the amnesiac &
» Continue reading How Bout Them Apples by Nikki Wallschlaeger…
Body of a Dancer by Renée E. D’Aoust Pages: 167 ISBN: 978-0-9832944-1-2 Price: Paperback–$15.00
Review by Peter Grandbois
When memoir works, it gives the reader a razor thin slice of life, serves it up on a prepared slide and examines it through the microscope of the memoirist’s eye. Renée E. D’Aoust’s memoir, Body of a Dancer, not only works but gives the reader an unfalteringly honest and brutally clear-sighted vision of the nature of an artist’s passion. From the opening pages, D’Aoust establishes that the dancer is not after beauty: “The body of a dancer is tired before it is
» Continue reading Body of a Dancer by Renée E. D’Aoust…
You’re making sangria. We laugh down the wine-aisle. I tell you mine’s best—red wine and brandy. You say you’ll try it, someday, then look away. I confess to trying anything after two glasses, which is out of context but I want to get it out there. You raise an eyebrow at the possibilities.
We smile across scented melons, grapes that dangle, berries blushing, smooth nectarines.
I ask why you’re buying so much soda; I’m caffeine free. You say it’s something she needs for migraines. She throws up, you justify. That’s too bad, I offer false sympathy. She calls
» Continue reading Groceries by Amy Abig…
Listen to a reading of “Dead Man” by Richard Prins.
The love of my first life wheeled her art crush down St. Mark’s Place in a shopping cart. They almost ran over Jim Jarmusch. Silver hairs were tincturing the sky, feathers after a pillowfight. I pawned them all to recuperate expenses.
What I need now is a slender canoe, brown lightning on my cheeks and a knifelooking moon that arrives on time to see its own gallows. All this to look good on my wanted poster. His characters are hunting me. They have wasp nests in their sleeves. My asshole
» Continue reading Dead Man by Richard Prins…
Listen to a reading of “february 14th” by M.G. Martin.
i am a subway car without a tunnel or track but i have a destination that can’t be met because you can’t stop moving in wonderful squiggly lines. also, the conductor is blind.
i did not shave off my facial hair because it looked stupid but because you said it looked stupid with your eyes & i want to be better.
when you sleep i am a refrigerator without a door. when you awake i am the words sitting beside an empty book with so many pages.
look, this is
» Continue reading february 14th by M.G. Martin…
Listen to a reading of “Affinity: An Actual English Sonnet” by Jeanine Deibel.
You say my eyes remind you of Jean-Pierre Leaud, the early years, in Nineteen Sixty La Nouvelle Vague films, with a forcible stare. I say that’s unfamiliar French to me, and you begin to speak with your hands. We watch footage in black and white of a taut-jawed young man, a master of subtlety, who capt- ures us in every frame, whether with a bawd, or maid, or a man, it’s all the same, because his eyes are an invitation without an exit. Is it the mood,
» Continue reading Affinity: An Actual English Sonnet by Jeanine Deibel…
You are offering a flower From a withered vein of the root Instead of a leaf. I wonder How much dreaming This century Is giving me out of the dust.
The crows here speak the same language
as they do across the sea. Try to think of another
word for caw.
When I took my crow to Estonia
he was immediately conversant and took up
with a polished set leaving me
alone at the hotel with the inexpensive
whores, circling. It stuck in my craw.
No matter how long we sat upon a branch
when the dark cloak spread and we
leapt into flight— it felt abrupt.
Nothing to really crow about—
stitching the ragged wood together
with flown thread and cawing that one
» Continue reading Crow by Michael Bazzett…
When I was hungry, a monkey climbed down a rope ladder and gave me a juice box and a peanut butter sandwich. The sandwich tasted like dirt. I had never eaten peanut butter before because my mom was afraid of me choking or having an allergy fit. And yet, she let me play in the yard with a hole so deep it could swallow me up forever. When I crush my head against the wall, when I am buried in pillows, I could be there again. ^^^ I used to drink until I was blind, crashing around like
» Continue reading Well Baby by Kristin Matly Dennis…
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