Issue 30 - October 2015

Our October issue includes work from the following poets:







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Taylor Emily Copeland - Two poems

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Kala gives a tour of hell This is the metal box he locked me in. This is the chain he used to keep me bound. This is where he shot Charlie three times in the chest. This is where he buried him, like a dead animal. This is where I was allowed to walk around, like a dog, to smell the air, to hope for release. This when we hear about how likeable my captor was, how he was a great boss, a model citizen, never the type to do this. This is when I don't talk about my bare back against a metal floor, about tasting his scent, about the thumping sound in closed in spaces, and how it echoes in my teeth and eyes. This is when you can read about the fourteen year old that he bound and forced, about how they released him, gave him the chance to step up his game. This is the hole a gun makes, a shovel makes, a void makes when someone you love dies. This is when I give the story an edit, a heroine. When someone asks me what its like to kiss another girl It tastes like cotton candy,...
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Nicole Borello - No Formal Burial

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No Formal Burial I dreamt the roses died. The shape and odor melted into a red ocean. I dreamt I was gnawing on a warm piece of bread. A delusional delicacy disappearing from my palms. My dead branches poked with drought and dusted with barren earth, bleed thin twigs. I dreamt I was awake, that within the dream their bellies were full. They were different versions of myself: skinny, fed, bloated, in peasant bondage, feverish, tenant in a tenant-landlord brawl. I can’t seem to escape the spiral of my children’s limbs. My milkless breasts lead my children into misery.                             …guigh orainn na peacaigh,                                         (...
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Don Kloss - Those People

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Those People   I never wanted any more than I could fit into my head- Dave Grohl, Monkey Wrench   They want a McMansion, with a pool and hot tub on 25 acres. They want a summer home on the beach at the Outer Banks. They want a house keeper, cook, gardener, and nanny. They want a Land Rover, Porshe Cayane, or Mercedes. They want the best private schools for their kids. They want bodies and faces like gods, and a bank account so large, the bank manager himself comes to cut their lawn. They want Caribbean cruises, and world vacations. They want to have celebrity actors, musicians, artists, designers, and authors for friends. They want jewelry that startles. One day, a chauffeur, a large yacht moored at a private dock, a helicopter, a private beach. They want to always be happy and healthy, and never die. All I want is a twenty-four-hour Taco Bell. Don Kloss is a 60-year-old poet, musician, and songwriter. He is a New Jersey transplant from rural Ohio. His poems have been ...
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