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The Kindness of VulturesVultures, meet me at the ravine.
Please be kind and pick my bones clean. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Shitty Situation1 It was seventh grade, a time of odors foreign (sweat and cum) and growth of acne, insecurity, and yet a need to attract a mate. What was important? To us, clothes and shoes. So my father bought me the latest Jordans, bootleg and two sizes too big, from the corner. “Who the fuck’s gonna get that close?” That was his reply to the dunking logo whose fingers, I noticed, were too long. “And just stuff the fuckers with socks. Shiiit. They’ll think you got a big cock.” The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
WordsI chew on curling my tongue around them. Tart and sweet at once as I search for the perfect dash - smelling of Spring and the potential in manure. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Worries at a Hilltop Resort Words by Sofiul Azam QuailBellMagazine.com I’m lying on a beach-style outdoor bench at a hilltop resort, enjoying the fresh air from all around and the warm sunshine at this time of winter even though I know bombs are falling like hail on some parts of the world and deaths are being recorded in destiny’s logbook. I’m holding my four-month-old daughter drooling and crawling on me while somewhere the legs of toddlers are already broken before they learn to toddle. My four-and-a-half year-old son is scampering here The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
One Room One at a TimeI eat this room
alone every day The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
RainBy Sofiul Azam QuailBellMagazine.com
I At home while it’s raining in the afternoon, I fondle my kids and play, building a tent with pillows and with an embroidered quilt. Minutes ago, they did anxiously stick out their hands through the balcony grille, and felt the raindrops hit their tiny palms. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
How Can I Title This Poem on Love?Words by Sofiul Azam QuailBellMagazine.com Hear me out on this, urgent as Munch’s Scream, or should you say, To hell with it all? It’s burning like E. coli in the urinary tract. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
To Begin AgainBy Chris Allen & Jim Tritten QuailBellMagazine.com Elke, her face pressed against the airplane window, felt her husband Robert tugging at the sleeve of her ski sweater.
“Darling,” he said, “the flight attendant is talking to you.” Elke looked past Robert to the male flight attendant: strong jaw, warm smile, and blonde hair with a hint of white. A good-looking man with green eyes in his late forties. For half a second, Elke’s eyes shot up in surprise, then she shook her head, she wasn’t that old. Men had been flight attendants for years now, but then they’d never been quite so attractive. “Another Pinot Grigio?” he asked with the hint of a Teutonic accent. “Please,” Elke said. She glanced out the window again at the snow-capped mountains, before turning back to Robert. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
HeroesThree men inside a crowded train perch on the edge of plastic seats. Hands folded between bent knees, they wait patiently for their stop. Their bodies sway gently with the engine's momentum. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Outside the Nestevery look a breakthrough every touch is flight, |