The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Donna Pucciani Tonight the polluted moon glows
bright as a black-robed orange witch riding in on her autumn broom a month too early, sweeping away the shards of ozone. A transient in the sky’s dark wood, right out of Dante, she’s the portent of a dried-up harvest, a smoky inferno, the remnants of Canadian wildfires. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Wayne Russell Perched on the brink of annihilation,
think tanks forged in steel and blood, we have sold ourselves into slavery- dumbed down and drowning in pools of cyberspace wasteland. Wars waged, fought and lost, humanity was a myth- The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Peter Mladinic My homeroom teacher taught wood shop,
a useful thing to learn, wood. I never took wood shop. Homeroom wasn’t much. We sat, he called our names, then we headed out for classes. I never saw him work a lathe or set a spirit level, with its yellow bubble, on a two-by-four. I let carpenters do it, then pay with Mastercard. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By B.A. Van Sise Noon on a Sunday, and
the place is packed. In spite of this late year, here you can still saddle up to the bar and smoke a cigarette, The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By B.A. Van Sise Mostly because marriage rates
are in a precipitous decline, and the idea of the American family is, like these two, getting fucked. Plus, The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By B.A. Van Sise Every day, the sun does
rise, even if those returning home are surprised to see it. They ramble home in shambles, entering a quiet world after The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Trisha Leigh Shufelt Apples, ripe. Peaches, plump. Purple-black plums
beckon me as I wander by—tempting cry out to be chewed, crunched, devoured. Their delicious juices, earthy, enticing, and sweet are fat on the vine for my mouth to meet. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
By Petra F. Bagnardi They told us I'm barren.
You clutched the sentence to your chest, and shaped it into a condemnation. You turned our home into a dry nest. You gazed at me, and saw only an empty vessel. I let my pride swallow my tears: I am so much more than a warm womb to be filled. |