April 16, 2020

“Mythomane’s Truth,” Poetry by Sanjeev Sethi

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“Mythomane’s Truth,” Poetry by Sanjeev Sethi

Mythomane’s Truth    If we could retrofit ourselves?  I would not be me nor you, you.    Imagine me without infirmities.   I would no longer be po-faced,  pudgy and potbellied. My eyes  wouldn’t swim sans Adam’s ale.    If any of this gladdens your gut:    I reckon, you aren’t for me.  ** Flux    From entanglements of existence   I’m in firmament of my own.   In roll-call of needs anamnesis   mitigates. Past is polished with   coats of one’s inner complexion.   Peeps are like diaries different   page different piece: same smell.  ** Vision    When you unself   from a situation or skein:   you deliver lavish   dividends for yourself.    Opportune distancing   mends the ache:   of the eventualities  of our exploits.    Propinquity bedims   the perspective:  leaving us to lust   after our parakeet or pelt.  *** Sanjeev Sethi is published in over 25 countries. He has more than 1200 poems printed or posted…

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April 14, 2020

“Vogel,” A Novel Excerpt by David Lincoln

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“Vogel,” A Novel Excerpt by David Lincoln

TUESDAY, JUNE 13, 1944  AMIENS, FRANCE  STANDARTENFUHRER HANS VOGEL entered cell 51. His black uniform was spotless and sat on his shoulders the way it would a man comfortable with physical exertion. The SS insignia on his collar faintly reflected the light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was the only illumination in the cell, which reeked of urine and the familiar coppery scent of blood.  The naked prisoner sat in a steel chair, straddling the drain in the middle of the room. His wrists were bound to the arms of the chair, his ankles held fast to its legs. Leather straps held his chest rigid. One eye was swollen and purple. His lips were shredded, and his body was peppered with bruises. A sergeant wearing a Wehrmacht uniform was standing behind…

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April 9, 2020

“Review for a Canvas Fanny Pack,” by Kerry Langan

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“Review for a Canvas Fanny Pack,” by Kerry Langan

Heading for Review:  Big Mistake  Reviewer Name: SheWhoIsDisappointedandIsGoingtoTellYouHowMuch   I gave this fanny pack one star because there was no option to give it no stars. If you try to leave the 5-star graphic blank, it won’t let you go to the box where you’re supposed to leave the actual review. So, just know that I gave this one star but it should be no stars. Zilch.  First of all, I ordered an apple green fanny pack from HikeBike.com when they were running that sale a couple weeks ago. Apple green, like the color of grass in July and my favorite sweater and, well, green apples! In the photo they ran during the sale, the fanny pack looks like it would match a Granny Smith. I love apple green. If you opened my closet door, you’d see that almost everything is green. Kevin, my ex, told me once that green was a great color with my brown…

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April 6, 2020

“‘The Misfits’ Revisited,” Poetry by Stephen Mead

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“‘The Misfits’ Revisited,” Poetry by Stephen Mead

“The Misfits” Revisited*   When you chased, lassoed the mustangs,  tying hooves to necks of down  weighed by tires heavy as trucks,  you wrenched the galloping out of me  till I found my rage…    Butchers!  What is the spirit if not these horses  wild first to last, these zeniths, comet-  tailed, free as the sage, the mountains,  the thousand miles of it?    That is me down there in the dust.  That is you who cannot see yourself  for the sign of dog food dollars,  a cowboy’s wage, the dream  gone to blood.    Put my blood on your fingers.  Lick clean.  Let whiskey drown the taste.  The taste will come back, the beleaguering   fever and freedom here truly trotting  beyond your ropes which shake and shake.    Lost boy, lost cow poke,  I will…

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March 29, 2020

“Crimson,” A Short Story by Zach Lattman

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“Crimson,” A Short Story by Zach Lattman

Ester hated that dress. But it was the only thing she had for tonight. Since graduating law school, she, and four other classmates would get together once a month. Supposedly, they were all such great friends, and they didn’t want graduation to pull them apart. But to Ester, it felt fake—almost coerced. It felt more like preemptive networking; everyone was keeping tabs on each other in case they needed a favor down the road. Ester never voiced that concern to anyone. Surely, it was all in her head, she told herself. But still, in her more cynical, or rather, her more honest moments, she doubted everyone’s authenticity—even her own.  She leaned back against the living room wall and stared out the window into the late-spring evening. Chicago looked beautiful at night. From Ginny’s 21st-floor condo, it looked like…

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