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Current Issue: Fall/Winter 2010

POEMS

Bruce Covey
Pantoum On Art

Oliver de la Paz
Dear Empire [These are your
interstates
]
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Oliver de la Paz
Dear Empire [These are your maps]
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Oliver de la Paz
Dear Empire [These are your nurseries]
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Christine DeSimone
Quitting Smoking

Todd Dillard
Put the Jukebox On

Todd Dillard
The Hymn of the Garden (Days)

Noelle Kocot
Vow to Continue to Avoid All Drama and Strife

Gary L. McDowell
A Travel of Romance (Scene IV)

Gary L. McDowell
A Travel of Romance (Scene V)

Gary L. McDowell
Simple Objects

Clayton Michaels
– dog star man (part one)
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Ron Mohring
– Admit One

Ron Mohring
Fire

Ron Mohring
Loss: An Atlas

Keith Montesano
Honeymoon Meditation: Flight Number 1967

Keith Montesano
Variation on a Landscape

Corinna McClanahan Schroeder
You Tell Me of the Winters in Laramie

Sheera Talpaz
What You've Heard, It's All True

Kendra Tanacea
After the Funeral
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Laura Madeline Wiseman
I Find My Love: In Mr. Fletcher's School
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Laura Madeline Wiseman
Family Address
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FICTION

Jessica Barksdale
Mistake 502

N.T. Brown
Electric Feel

Nathan Holic
Pastel Dreams

Michael Phillips
When I Was Young


NON-FICTION:
the book(s) that changed my life

Rachel Contreni Flynn
The Word-Loving Dragon

Ru Freeman
Staying Hungry: on Enid Blyton

Alex Lemon
The Book That Changed My Life

Metta Sáma – “Don’t you let on”: two books that charged my tongue


REVIEWS

Laura McCullough on…
Words for Empty and Words for Full, Bob Hicok

Leslie Contreras Schwartz on…
This Is the Red Door, James R. Whitley

Variation on a Landscape  
Keith Montesano

After Joel Sternfeld’s Photograph: After A Flash Flood, Rancho Mirage, California, 1979


This has to be a painting: composed driveway,
thin black line in tight, delicate strokes, separating

the plane, the earth from itself in this fabricated,

half-city fever dream, in this afterworld two-piece puzzle,
showing children what used to be, directions

reading: Cut the dark middle line from right to left, and when

you get to the small bushes, keep cutting until the end.
With no fence or guardrail, how did someone drunk

not shift to reverse and careen down the gorge, what’s left

of this former backyard? It was easy. They watched
the water from the garage: torrents of rain swirling,

dead trees uprooted and floating to who-knows-where.

But they didn’t see the car, didn’t know as they watched 
that someone was there: tucked into a ball

in the front seat, the only shelter they could find.

 

Keith Montesano is the author of the poetry collection Ghost Lights (Dream Horse Press, 2010). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Hayden’s Ferry Review, American Literary Review, Third Coast, Blackbird, Crab Orchard Review, Ninth Letter, and elsewhere. He currently lives with his wife in New York, where he is a PhD Candidate in English and Creative Writing at Binghamton University.