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Piano & MorePiano
The piano at the center Of the forest Was made of stones and light, Of snakeskin keys That crackled and thinned. Whoever built it Had an ear For the inner notes Of falling water, The phantoms of the wind Who only play, indirectly, On dark machines. We never saw anyone At it, but the empty bench Was a wire for passing birds, For the bunched tributes Of leaves. In the pools of yellow light Its silence was immolating. Around it, the imagined forest Happened to appear. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Zombie Zone & MoreZombie Zone
Why put stock in Zombies? They’re primarily fabrications of the demented, the horror-stricken, pandemic imagination. They’re supposedly corpses rejuvenated and then expelled from oblivion’s pit to rise up through an immensely hideous underworld, phantasmagoric world in which the savage dog Cerberus terrifies, the ghastly boatman Charon haunts souls, from which Orpheus couldn’t rescue his heartthrob Eurydice and live blissfully with her forever in some psychic paradise. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
NapalmOne of those days when
ev’rything is edible: the couch, The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Three PrizesBy Romana Guillotte QuailBellMagazine.com My whole college career had been terribly boring. Full of spreadsheets and addendums and footnotes, I knew MLA, ALA, and all the other ‘LA’s there were. Undergrad, grad, post-grad, pre-doctorate, doctorate—I lived in the office of our department. I was even given a cot with my name on it at the last department Christmas party. That and sage words of advice from my favorite Professor Emeritus: “Keep looking.”
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Song of the Stable BoyBy Abdur-Rehman Qadeer QuailBellMagazine.com On the far away empty island
In that ancient cottage Veil of the night covers the face of the land. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Presumed GuiltyBy Laura Capasso QuailBellMagazine.com A light breeze carried the perfume of chlorine and lavender in the humid South Carolina air. A ladybug bumbled toward the shadowy refuge under Piper’s deck chair.
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Sol InvictusAre you a god, or a mortal dream?
With an altar of a kitchen table and red mornings, Never able to make sunny-side up eggs properly. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Crystal Tree Inside MeBy Carolyn Jane Paterson QuailBellMagazine.com I am trying to grow through rock
And push lapis petals through a pearl prison The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Optimistic Rug: 2007My sister and her husband are Donald Trump supporters. She didn’t break the news in person because, for obvious reasons, we no longer speak. An acquaintance—Sylvia, addicted to Facebook—e-mailed me about it.
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