Carcasses of Spiders by Ace Boggess

litter the glue trap meant for mice
like cut coal fallen from a train,
so many I wonder how to extrapolate the number
of terrors that lurk in walls, flimsy ceiling.
These could be part of a plastic playset
of Vlad the Impaler’s flying corpses,
except they nailed themselves in place
by crossing a tiger pit at night.

I feel sorry for them, although I hate them,
tremble at their dead legs pointed toward nirvana.
Is this the grief of a genocidal tyrant?
I’d think one body would ward off the next;
they keep coming when no one’s watching,
accepting death as long as the path is straight.

--

Ace Boggess is author of six books of poetry, most recently Escape Envy. His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Notre Dame Review, Harvard Review, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes and tries to stay out of trouble. His seventh collection, Tell Us How to Live, is forthcoming in 2024 from Fernwood Press.

Why Not Celebrate Something? by Roberta Beach Jacobson

In the southern hemisphere
in the month of March
in a capital city
on a balmy Saturday
at precisely 1 p.m.

snare drums call out

Foreign tourists
along the parade route
assume
it’s a local holiday
of some sort

Maybe they’re right

--

Roberta Beach Jacobson (she/her) is drawn to the magic of words–poetry, song lyrics, flash fiction, puzzles, and stand-up comedy. Her latest book is Demitasse Fiction: One-Minute Reads for Busy People (Alien Buddha Press, 2023). She lives in Iowa, USA. https://linktr.ee/roberta_beach_jacobson

Business in Philadelphia by David Sydney

On the plane to Philadelphia, Mel and Franklin, two strangers, sat next to one another…

Mel: Ever been to Philly before?

Franklin: My first trip.

Mel: You haven't missed much.

Franklin turned from a journal he'd been reading and looked out the window.

Mel: The name's Mel.

Franklin: Nice to meet you.

Mel: What do you do?

Franklin: I'm a quantum physicist.

Mel: Huh?

Franklin: I'm working on implications of the Pauli exclusion principle to string theory

Mel: What?

Franklin: It's really not that interesting. Actually, I'm pretty bored with it. How about you?

Mel: Me? I'm a drycleaner. I've three places.

Franklin: Do any of them turn clothes around in 24 hours?

Mel: Sure. In fact, one's in by 9 and out by 5 .

Franklin: No kidding? Dry cleaning out by 5? And you don't ruin buttons?

He pointed to his shirt, open at the sleeve because of a crushed button.

Mel: No.

Franklin: Now that's really interesting.

--

David Sydney is a physician. He has had pieces in Little Old Lady Comedy, 101 Words, Microfiction Monday, 50 Give or Take, Friday Flash Fiction, Entropy Squared, Grey Sparrow Journal, Bright Flash Literary Review, Rue Scribe, and Pocket Fiction.

Maybe I Can Go My Own Way By Ben Nardolilli

I’ve stumbled onto a new role;
Sneezing Man, huffing and puffing in a world
That doesn’t want flared nostrils
And yet fills every space with the dust of ages

As I sniffle, I sit alone, except for stares,
Not fluent in the proper language,
This patois the educated bandy back and forth,
I can’t download their mélange of signs

In the meantime I find my downtime,
Relaxing while watching inaccurate dinosaurs,
There is a dangerous story there
On the screen, but I am safe and pleased

--

Ben Nardolilli is currently an MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Slab, and The Minetta Review. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.

On A Slow Gloaming by Kushal Poddar

To Rijurekh da


The thin light from the window
sniffs, recognises the smoky petrichor
rising from my mellow core.
In the garden I buried my lies, fed by kitchen rot grows
a Pinocchio reed.
If you stare hard; eyes blur; 'I' dissolves
freeing you to see more in one, how a reed holds
some infinite reeds, possibilities,
as if a lie can be true when its turn arrives.

--

The author of 'Postmarked Quarantine' has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of 'Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe. https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

Like a Broken Drum by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

When I don't have the courage
to face every coming dawn
and the only answer lies in
giving up then it means hope
has flown forever away from
your heart and there is no
reason to go on because there
is nothing left to hold onto
and the hours before you lose
themselves in the passage of
time. Just as the day begins
you shy away from its first
light, the sound of your heart
like a broken drum, and for
a minute you forget what it's
like to be caressed by a loose
feather. Only once have I seen
fallen plum blossoms be swirled
up by the wind in one of my
dreams and they had been erased
by an invisible hand at the tip
of an awakening day.

--

Bobbi Sinha-Morey's poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places. Her books of poetry are available at Amazon.com and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net Anthology in 2015, 2018, and 2020 as well has having been nominated for The Pushcart Prize in 2020.

Hot Day by John Winfield Hoppin

On the hottest day of the hottest month of the hottest year of
The hottest decade of the hottest century on record
I told you something
To satisfy you
And reinforce the fabric of our community

But it is too hot
The waters are too high
There are inevitable circumstances
That can't be avoided

The ship is lost
There are no rafts
There are no life preservers
Regulation fails us
We can't give up the ship
For there is no other

The waters churn and froth with misfortune
The air turns to salt
Time's crashing halt
The trumpet's call
Names sealed in eternity's stone envelope
There must be a girl with a gun somewhere --
Maybe she'll save me, too
Or at least take me with her
But maybe she is fickle and has a heart made of cement

--

Emerging from intersecting social, environmental and physical catastrophe, John Winfield Hoppin is an artist and poet living and working in San Leandro, California. In 2001, he received his bachelor's degree from the California College of Arts and Crafts in Film, Video and Performance. He has multiple sclerosis and in 2016 created the What’s The Matter With Me? Podcast to find support and explore disability theory. Chernobyl happened on his seventh birthday. he/him