canvas asteroids

In the prosaic sense that things
just work, find the ordinal of a
number using some black magic
& lots of glitter. Once that is done,
use screws of varying sizes to add
the back to the seat of the trephin-
ation machine. Putting a hole in
the head might seem quite easy
& straightforward when coded
from scratch, but getting the colors
right is a complex task. The moon
might arrive upside down before
the job is finished & draw the light
away. Sometimes it is the vibrations
from a herd of wombats digging
holes that causes the drill to slip.

Mark Young’s most recent book is the downloadable pdf, XXXX CENTONES, available from
sandy press — https://www.sandy-press.com/.

FAITH AND GUTS

It takes faith to not rely upon faith.
It takes guts to not actively be in love.
It takes fortitude to forgo passion for concealment,
Trade exhilaration for contentment.
Don’t let the world fool you –
There is more potential downside to jumping from an airplane
Than upside
Unless the plane is going down, too.
It takes character to dismiss charm and to keep beauty at a distance.
It takes strength to embrace loneliness
And a strong heart to turn sadness into expression.
It takes a defective sanity to hold onto hunger,
To delight in the potential of conflict
While avoiding conflict if you can,
Letting it come to you if it must.
It takes wisdom to capitulate and rebel in equal measure.
It takes guts to quietly love everyone –
Enormous guts and hidden audacity.
It takes a miracle to love oneself truly.
It takes a certain kind of faith in the natural world
To not blow on the dice before you throw them.
Faith and guts.

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

Progress

We didn’t realize he might be somebody’s grandfather. The age of the char-à-banc had
passed us by, & the advent of VistaVision, with its initial attempt to emulate the golden ratio,
was something our teachers wouldn’t or couldn’t talk to us about. Dogs fought in the street &
distracted us. The town grew dustier by the day. The Town Hall collapsed under the weight
of woodworms & the local records all went with it. We coughed, & carried on as we always
had.

Mark Young’s most recent book is The Advantages of Cable (Luna Bisonte Prods).

hermit crabs

the distress signal, a whirl-pr
op flutter picked up in the Western Pacific

is Amelia Earhart
in 3300 newtons of claw grip force
which is 1800 new
tons more than the bite of a tiger

meanwhile, in Norwich
a sculpture of Thomas Browne’s skull
presides over cafe Pret a Manger &
is reputed to encourage unusually free inquiry

after centuries of misadventure
bones pile like an ossuary of sleeping hermit crabs

Damon Hubbs is interested in leisurely games of tennis & perfectly moist coffee cake. His poetry has appeared in numerous journals, with recent works published in Otoliths, Synchronized Chaos, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Book of Matches, Streetcake, Tigershark, Exist Otherwise & Horror Sleaze Trash. He lives in New England. 

Music Stand, Through Autumn Window

Blitheful as these rudderless days may seem, 
there is a candor lost for which most are vaguely thankful – 
when doing something ethically in an unethical manner, it still feels wrong. 
It is the mechanics of the act, not the motives of the intention. 
But I can hardly grouse, for I find myself wandering out among the tall weeds once again.  
Everything has flown south this time of year, 
a willing earful most of all.   

Gentlemen riders of cousinly plagues bring willful steed to blinders 
and it is just in passing that the hurt in my legs lessens, 
slowing to ogle a shingle-less roof in disrepair,   
this music stand, through autumn window that holds 
such cursory attentions; an open red music book at the ready, 
both teacher and student lost to rambunctious absenteeism. 

Have you greeted the fallow as uncultivated land? 
Saved such cruelties like pixie-clipped coupons on the sly? 
I have no tears or music, just this returning gimp of pain. 
No one buys local when they are forced to look in the mirror. 

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.

Conversations

on West Oley street
describing the forms
of two shadowy figures
illuminated by
a green glycerin porch light
of polyethylene globe
robed in a halo of mist
on a humid summer night
troubled by a fading memory
of a loose brick in the wall
which crumbled to fall
into loves curse
wild with city verse
in a voice as if
nothing that was said
has survived

except me

Carl Kaucher – Is the author of three chap books, “Sideways Blues ( Irish mountain and beyond )”, “Postpoemed” and most recently “Peripheral Debris” all published by Alien Buddha press. His work has appeared in numerous print publications and on line. The writing explores his experiences wandering urban spaces near his home and throughout Pennsylvania. Using his photography and writing, Carl has been exploring the overlooked places and documenting the chance occurrences that happen to him and by doing so gives us the opportunity to reflect upon those similar events happening in our lives also. https://www.facebook.com/CarlKaucher/ and on instagram @Carlkaucher.

Two Way Radio

Like kids with two cups and a string.
We play at this life, guessing instead of knowing.
Speaking in riddles as we dance in circles.

Avoiding facts dodging truths
That are clear to everyone, as to ourselves if only we just cut the shit and face the facts.

Games played, lies embraced, as somewhere in between we exist unfazed as fully developed
fools.

I choose to cut the connection instead of maintaining a facade.
It’s never easy to be honest, but in being so.
It is most certainly easier being alone by default.

John Patrick Robbins, is the editor in chief of the Rye Whiskey Review and Off The Coast Magazine. His work has appeared here at Fixator Press, Impspired Magazine, The Dope Fiend Daily, Sava Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, It Takes All Kinds Literary Zine and Schlock Magazine.

over-kill

it is on the second-hand nowhere bridge i cry acid
accepting of defeated cast finally in stoning thump
the scamper drifts to dust in movement of blame

once meant joy but freedom falls into obedience
drives deep heartbeat of happy eroded by rhythm
we were association un-separated by plague boil

inability to save earth natural world continuum beat
our environment grew nil our race once complex flat
apathy depressive anxious result of over-kill heating

when final has become the stop point then what now
climb in bright for this domain now controlled you say
once be it of choice self-destiny determined is halted

gasp rolling hankering smile disintegrated in wet blur
did you see the ex-president controlling own lie preach
that has become usual dragging walk peace step gone

on shattered glass we roll for no more remains solid
greenery we once loved sweet is charred death brown
and that is an ending without try to repeat exculpation

Originally published by and exhibited in, this breath is not mine to keep, Australia

Stephen House has won many awards as a poet, playwright, and actor. He’s received international literature residencies from The Australia Council and Asialink. His chapbooks “real and unreal” and “The Ajoona Guest House” are published by ICOE Press. His next book drops soon. He performs his acclaimed monologues widely.

Monday Morning

The weekend 
was a clown on their day off, 
stepping out of bed only to slip 
on a banana skin and fall 
onto their cacti collection –
the passing blur of a tree trunk 
from the window of a moving car – 
a fresh shiner an and empty wallet 
from some back alley slight of hand 

It is cold outside, 
but inside this kitchen it’s 
a reptile house, as a chef then throws 
a pan and I’m asked to put on 
some music and I choose How’m 
I Supposed To Get Up In The Morning 
by Hank Wood and The Hammerheads.

Once again, my song is skipped
and I return to my section laughing – 
ready to get on with it all
and I will do throughout this week, 
until the weekend suddenly 
reappears in the same way 
that love manifests –
something like a burning church 
cleansed by welcomed rain.

Gwil James Thomas is a poet, novelist and inept musician. He lives in his hometown of Bristol, England but has also lived in London, Brighton and Spain. His eleventh chapbook of poetry Gold Chains Around Our Necks, Hellhounds at Our Heels is forthcoming from Holy & Intoxicated Publications.

Suburbian Image

An image of suburbia
Chain link and close supervision
A spider’s weave and her poison
A blank and unhealthy reflection
On repeat and on repeat
Because a hook is a hook by any other name

Anthony David Vernon is a Cuban-American literary writer and master’s level philosophy student at the University of New Mexico. He has a book out with small press Alien Buddha Press entitled The Assumption of Death.