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Tickle the PickleBy Vern Fein QuailBellMagazine.com Reminiscing with my brother and our wives one evening, which is a retired occupation as we get older, the past much safer than the scary future, a strange soul, who lived an unconventional life, came to mind. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Showerbeer
But what good are words when bombs spill out of your radio every morning, all your meals are gridlock great bellyfulls of strife with a side of extinction shaved polar ice dessert and a chemical warfare nightcap with a tomahawk chaser. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
PoisonDane had a good reason to begrudge his roommate. Brian, Dane’s roommate, was a medical student at LSU for about three years, then he dropped out in his final year because he developed a drinking problem. This drinking problem never went away. Every morning Dane woke up to beer cans and bottles laced all over the living room. Every table, every chair, and every windowsill held Coors Lite aluminum cans and green Rolling Rock bottles. Dane never liked Brian. Brian also never liked Dane’s dog, and Dane knew he was the one who killed him. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Hagseed Takes Manhattan
She was a woman given to pageantry, though she shouldn’t have been, looking as she did like overripe fruit left to wither in a casing of sequins. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Better WomanBy Natalie Sierra QuailBellMagazine.com I’m trying, I really am To better myself, to be a better woman To remember to turn the dryer on its second cycle Because it’s kinda fucked up but still works Like me The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
This Particular Side of HeavenYou wouldn’t believe the things that I have done just to feel alive Swallowing thorny roses whole Getting lost in museums The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
QuestionI would ask those who love him if ever they imagine—say once only on a Tibetan blue moon or maybe The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Voyages Of A Loving SoulBy Paullyn Sidhu QuailBellMagazine.com On the shores of my mind, I stood. My bare feet wet - slapping it was, the surge of the waves. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
pine queenyou walk with fire and dance with night, to feel with blistered skin that shivers pale. what waits The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Bidden WoundBy Ricky Ray QuailBellMagazine.com. Tagging along on the high-tide of your ruminative incision, is it any wonder that the wound racism inflicts on members of the offending race fails to heal? Should we be surprised that when a cultural grief approaches closure, there's no end to the line of those willing to dig their fingers in and tear it open anew? Setting aside psychosis and the more hardened hearts of humanity, what unspoken acts of horror, guilt and revenge do angry, downtrodden men harbor for one another under their coats? What is that bulge there that looks nothing like a breast? I'm not sure I want to know the danger awaiting me in or near the average red-blooded male's armpit. |