Day: October 3, 2017

Issue Six October 2017

Table of Contents Constance Schultz — “May 18, 1980,” “finding the storm” Dennis Perry Clark — “Observing Party” Lauren Suchenski — “Have I eaten” Yuan Changming — “A Small Wish” Anita Ngai — “Bed of Grass” Travis Gouré — “abu” Johanie Martinez-Cools — “The Swell of Underneath” Alex Kinney — “8” Susan Cronin — “from Portraits of Imaginary Poets”, “St. Medard (bad weather),” “Unasked Questions” William Doreski — “Remembering Nerval,” “Principal Beauty” Jim Zola — “Pascal the Parrot Passes” Thomas Piekarski — “Bury Me Not,” “Orwellian” Richard King Perkins II — “Darkless” Robert Okaji — “Happy Circuitry” Mare Leonard —…

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“May 18, 1980” and “finding the storm” by Constance Schultz

May 18, 1980 the sand my feet remember hot burning in summer until the mountain blew and soft ash that summer the city nearly shut down and we walked in the ghost town that was ours my father dusted the fruit tree babies with a handkerchief on his face and our roof did not fall in it was not poison like we didn’t know was not the end of the world on a Sunday I didn’t go to church finding the storm finding the storm before it arrives on the top of cascade hill cotton balls in the sky unthreading…

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“Observing Party” by Dennis Perry Clark

Observing Party Words at random, thoughts abrupt, pontific musings abound. Oh, tales of tall, salivating crescent smiles. Right knows not left for discomfited dancing twits. Rally the punching bowl, sodden dress flowers, defiled. Closet carnivorous hat-check girl dangling wares, agape gander soon snared. Voluble reverberations chasten, inescapable droning of the hive, the dogs of war bark. Hugging the walls, eschewing capture as prey from the pillagers. Boorish bow ties, heeled venomous serpents with glistening painted lips, twilling chinwag as they belly-up. Another potation palliates, courageous liquid personality arisen. Cloudy chamber pot bustles, blades clicking porcelain, self-medicating spooned septum. Lounge of…

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“Have I eaten” by Lauren Suchenski

Have I eaten Have I eaten anything in the past 9 minutes that was not air, water, pesticide or pain? Have I swallowed any part of my body and have I reached out towards the Sun in ancient, aching praise half as much as she is owed? Have I ever robbed myself of radioactive nutrition and have I known deeply enough what it is to be eaten, what it is to be plucked, what it is to be a mouthful of something meaningful? What self-deprecating honesty will be enough to honor the stalk that serves me that I am served…

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“A Small Wish” by Yuan Changming

A Small Wish I would rather be a leaf Whose body may contain The secrets of a whole forest Or A single dewdrop Whose soul can see Through an entire ocean Yuan Changming, nine-time Pushcart and one-time Best of Net nominee, published monographs on translation before moving out of China. With a Canadian PhD in English, Yuan currently edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Yuan in Vancouver; credits include Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOnline, Threepenny Review and 1289 others across 38 countries.

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“Bed of Grass” by Anita Ngai

Bed of Grass The 38 stops just long enough for me to see him. On the patch of grass serving as median next to the bus stop at Geary and Park Presidio, a man sleeping curled up on his side. From the clothes, it is hard to tell why the gods have left him there. The reason is always similarly different. Layers covers him. A quilted, navy blue grayish jacket, a frayed flannel, burgundy grayish throw, a (too) tight wool, black grayish beanie. He is the most peaceful object on the whole 5.8 miles of Geary, or at least the…

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“abu” by Travis Gouré

abu and it is true that there may be hardened ones unspeakably rough and locked up in their chambers but no one admires no one you will have to remember that at some point when the world is darkening and starved and by the lampposts a boorish thing with leather skin needs water to carry on and in the prison the man: the flash reproduction frame ghost sits idle at the gate of the world not quite fixed to bear with what weight the jaw of the threshold shuts the thinnest will return to you the bewildered the turned in…

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“The Swell of Underneath” by Johanie Martinez-Cools

Johanie Martinez-Cools is a writer for Sitcom World, a freelance writer on Blasting News and a regular contributor on Medium.com. She loves the written word, watching educational videos and occasionally a really great manga.

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“8” by Alex Kinney

8 Viscous black and indigo oil drenches the air and a warren of rabbits flee a meadow, secreting dark blood onto their coats. I chase a dense yellow light that paves a stream from the woods and enter a hole deep in the Earth. Still, my body lies waiting. I burrow into the cold and unfamiliar corpse and fall asleep. My hair parts into two antlers, tentacles, rabbit ears that dangle over your face. You swim, searching inside of me, but I do no stir. I want you to look and tell me what you find so I can try…

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“from Portraits of Imaginary Poets,” “St. Medard (bad weather),” “Unasked Questions” by Susan Cronin

from Portraits of Imaginary Poets The gun’s unquestionable heft at odds with the pink-stung silence— devastation, either way, an incomplete gesture— (for a proper explanation, the mind ever waiting—) on the precipice the gun under a tiny waltz of wings, a final indecipherable note on the wind— (the mind unvoiced, till blown out through one ear—) “What, bird, can you hear that I have been denied?” St. Medard (bad weather) horseless sheltered by an eagle shadowed by a storm cloud reliquaries weeping with rainwater Unasked Questions In the space where unasked questions unfurl, faces upturned, languid tongues lost in a…

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