In the gathering of fertility
laughter ricochets off the photo frame.
I smell the smoke
but can’t see the fire.
Watch dogs rotate through the broken fences,
where “wildlife-y” rocks listen to curses.
The purple ipod
is set to revenge.
More from Issue #3
Balancing Act by Mark J. Mitchell
He stood accused of arresting an insight. But no, he objected, he’d only plucked it, lightly, with two slim fingers and, for barely a semi-quaver, held it up to the light. Then…
Take Me on a Journey Please by Linda Sacco
I wish I were off to another world Where my destiny would be unfurled. Could I become a brilliant spell caster? Or only learn to fly faster? Perhaps I could board a…
Laundromat Arithmetic by Mark J. Mitchell
Practicing numbers, he watches her smoke. She stares at nothing: Not him, not the passing red mustang. I’m not (one, two) he thinks (three) thinking about her. A breeze blows blue smoke…
Pedestrian by Anna Cates
A new year passed. My gay friend with the glass eye received, just today, his insurance settlement. And me. A complexity thwarting mine, I’ve knuckled down to my bereavement. God have mercy,…