National Boulevard

Window open– car engines, chirping blue jays, a high-
pitched triolet, the closest I have ever lived to the freeway.

Even in L.A., stars would zoom past my periphery. National
Boulevard was a green and grimy place. Dust and smog

in my fingernails walking the curved sidewalk the way
I do now, in Pittsburgh, seeking drinks that echo loudly,

throughout my days to keep me occupied here. I would
not say more greenery. Here: more squirrels, less roadkill.

I am trying to decide if that is better.

James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet working in film production. His latest chapbook is A God You Believed In (Pinhole Poetry, 2023). Recent poems are in Red Tree Review, Alabama Literary Review, and Sideways Poetry Journal. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Nashville, Tennessee. (jamescroaljackson.com)

Shapes

He came and sat.
The polished rexine sofa
creaked a little.
His unkempt long hair,
one puff after another.
A cigarette-burn hole
on the armrest.
It stayed quiet.

A new shape settled.
It slumped under his laughter.
He pushed his last snort
into its corners.
The seams thinned.
Its voice cracked.

A familiar face lodged.
She taped some old cracks
before he sat.
The frame whined.
His silence stayed.

And then one day it screamed its last.
Its springs jutted through.
The weathered rexine split
into a web of wounds.

It left the house on a kabaddi’s cart.
Its three torn seats
wailed beneath their shapes
long after the men had gone.

Tazeen Erum is a poet, writer, and academic based in Karachi, Pakistan. Her poetry has appeared in Milkweed Journal, Ultramarine Literary Review, and Fixator Press. Her first poetry collection, For a Version of Someone, is currently under consideration for publication.

Taking Stock of Damage

Reaching behind the fake books,
I retrieve a crumpled gray metal box.
The clasp initially refuses access
but I overcome it
snapping it harshly against my finger.
My fingernails whine
as I pry around the entire square
and then POP,
it opens.
I gently remove a stiff tissue encrusted
with those terrible tears,
then a sticky note with faded phone number.
Next, I remove a bent Schlage house key
and an involuntary shiver shake
straightens me like aa outlet shock.
I pause to consider what to remove next.
Carefully, I remove a clipped front paw nail.
Using the remaining funeral holy card,
I slide it under some dried rose petals
and place them on the table.
The box is empty.
Taking the silver necklace from my pocket,
I place it in the empty bottom.
It is not easy for me.
Within minutes,
the box is back behind the books.
I am done with damage –
at least for now.

R. Gerry Fabian is a published writer and poet from Doylestown, PA.
He has published seven books of poetry: Parallels,Coming Out Of The Atlantic, Electronic Forecasts,Wildflower Women, Pilfered Circadian Rhythm, Hidden Danger, and the poetry baseball book, Ball On The Mound.

Captain Stink Eye Misses the Mark

Dirty looks
from the Joan of Arc
impersonator

outside the bus
station bathrooms
downtown

can really
cloud your day,

make you understand
Burroughs in his
bunker,

with the hots
for his very own
House of Knives,

but I am impervious
to all the slaughterhouse
sandwiches,

Captain Stink Eye
misses the mark

this time
and the next

if I were
a betting man,

but the betting man
is the one with
gumption

and the Mint
has all the money.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many mounds of snow.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Fixator Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

SPANISH PEAKS, COLORADO

Spanish Peaks punch through plains,
stone fists from ancient earth’s rage,
once volatile and angry,
now sullen and still and silent.

Dikes – those twisted scars –
slash the flanks.
Ridgelines sulk, refuse to straighten,
like busted bones that healed wrong.

They tolerate the Ponderosa pine
and alpine fir that cling tight
to their wind-wracked soil.
My staring is merely endured.

If rocky shoulders could shrug,
these would.
If volcanic faces could express themselves,
they’d send me off with a sneer.
If mountains could move,
they’d go where they’re unwanted.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Willow Review and the Pennsylvania Literary Journal. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the MacGuffin, the Bayou Review and Plainsongs.

Equilibrium Restored

All ‘Emotionally Neutral’
… and sat quietly
enjoying the day…
smiling up at the sky.
‘Unclouded Mind’
… it’s so nice
to notice stuff again.
Tree bark grain,
tumbling leaves,
the depth of the greens,
browns, reds and golds
… of Autumn…
without an Internal Battle.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres. He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. His novel “Crazy Like Emotion” is published by Close To The Bone. Short story collection “Kicking Back Drunk ‘Round The Candletree Graves”, and full-length poetry collections “It Is Big And It Is Clever”, “South Wales Outlaw”, “The Gutter Symposium”, “The Dark Side Of British Poetry”, “Uncivil Disobedience Is My Forte” and “Half A Long Century Of Anarchy, Bedlam, Chaos And Deplorably-Depraved Decadence” are all published by Hunsbury Press.

The old-fashioned suitcase

is coming back into style. Much like
big shoulder pads, this divisive
leather style from the mid-1900s is
turning heads & driving the return
of maximalist design elements, esp-
ecially when crafted in striking
primary colors. “It reflects confidence,
passion, & a love for life,” writes
Vogue Arabia. “It’s a cultural vibe
shift,” says someone else, from a
different demographic. “All very
well to believe the zeitgeist is
changing,” point out the sceptics,
“but now you’re going to need
extra stuff to fill the suitcase with.”

Mark Young’s recent books include synecdoche, from Sandy Press, California, & Curtains from
Pat Nolan’s Neo-Mimeo Editions, also California. A new collection of visual work, pheromones,
has just been published by Sandy Press.

uselessfully

chain of worlds
pot of brokens

enter the forest
wildly orderly

modern
somber
salted

not one
drain

careful to be
nothing

J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) is the author of thirteen collections of poetry, including Cinderella City
(The Red Ceilings Press). Visit MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published
work. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado.

Death

trapped in a tiny box, no way
out and the last breathing air’s
used. nothing but darkness in the
crepuscular hours of the end. no light.
no blue smoke. only a shot of Wild Turkey 101 bought
by the riverboat captain. “where are we going? I
ask; he just smiles. “in the everywhere and nowhere
you know too damn well.”
junk hallucinations come back, the nights I puffed on
an aluminum foil pipe, when the blue vapor crawled up my
brain and engendered dreams I thought I could catch.
the tiny box is inescapable, the air’s getting thinner by the minute
and I try to savor the last drink I’ll ever have.
death’s all around and I’ve dealt with the fucker since I was
twenty. lost my Emily, lost a good friend, lost a lot of
drinking buddies that froze in parks or took the sensible way out.
all I need as I board the boat floating on the Styx river is a reassurance
that Emily’s waiting on the other side; I receive another shot of WT101.
I sink it and, with a howl, I declare, “let’s sail away, motherfucker.”

George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science, currently works as a freelance writer, and has published three novels and three poetry collections. His latest book is Smoking Rot Gut Drinking Junk (Anxiety Press). His work has appeared in various publications, including Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Cajun Mutt Press, Fixator Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Outcast Press, The Piker Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.

Step Into Solitude

Do not fear solitude.
I look at myself there
often. I look at myself 
there now. I step into
solitude unafraid. I do
what is best for me here.
I take my time to gather
my thoughts and to read 
and write. That is not all
I do. I stay in my house
with time and solitude.
I remain here when the 
rains of all seasons fall.

Born in Mexico, Luis lives in California, and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles.
His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Fixator Press, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad
Swirl, Piker Press, and Unlikely Stories. Make the Water Laugh was his last poetry book, which
was published by Rogue Wolf Press.