January 2019 | poetry
My own words ricochet
back into my face,
splintering flesh,
with the impact
of mindless syllables
muttered under my breath,
barely audible
but heard nonetheless.
Words spewed
into the atmosphere,
involuntary but vile,
words I should have vomited
into any empty vessel
and plugged with
a lead stopper.
Words spilled
onto sacred ground,
scattered in a garden
for the innocent
to find like tantalizing
red berries
on a poisonous bush.
by Gloria Heffernan
Gloria Heffernan’s poetry collection, What the Gratitude List Said to the Bucket List, has been accepted for publication by New York Quarterly Books. Her chapbook, Some of Our Parts, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2018. In addition, her work has appeared in over fifty journals including Chautauqua Literary Journal, Stone Canoe, Main Street Rag, Columbia Review, Louisville Review, and The Healing Muse.
January 2019 | John Sweet, poetry
in a room, blindly
Not lies, really,
but truths that can’t be proven.
The ghosts of Aztecs,
of Incas.
Parking lots.
Palaces.
Man rolls the dice to see which of
the children will starve,
and then the bomb goes off.
Seventeen dead, blood everywhere,
the pews of the church on fire.
The runoff from the mill
dumped into the river.
Close your eyes and picture it.
The first time we met and then,
two years later,
the first time we made love.
Oceans on every side of us,
wars to the south,
to the east,
and I told you you were beautiful.
Had no words beyond that,
only abstractions.
Only need.
Thirty seven years old and
suddenly no longer blind and,
in the mountains,
the killers were making new plans.
In town,
the streetlights were coming on.
It seemed almost possible
we would find our way home.
aesop’s blues
in the cold white light of
febuary mornings
in the shadows of obsolete monuments
where we no longer touch
this is the world defined by
indifference and rust
this is a handful of salt held out
to christ while he dies on the cross
a gift without meaning
or offered with nothing but malice
a man walking slowly across
the frozen river and
then gone
sends his love
which is worth nothing at all
by john sweet
john sweet, b 1968, still numbered among the living. A believer in writing as catharsis. Opposed to all organized religion and political parties. His latest collections include APPROXIMATE WILDERNESS (2016 Flutter Press) and the limited edition chapbooks HEATHEN TONGUE (2018 Kendra Steiner Editions) and A BASTARD CHILD IN THE KINGDOM OF NIL (2018 Analog Submission Press). All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing.
January 2019 | visual art
Blue Glass
by Steve Ausherman
Steve Ausherman is a poet, painter and photographer who lives in New Mexico. Throughout his life, his mercurial personality and restless nature have driven him towards travel and exploration of both the man-made and natural world. His paintings are filled with the rich colors of the American Southwest and his poems are reflections upon travel, family, and wilderness. His camera accompanies him on trips near and far, and allows him to make images that capture his experiences in literal, conceptual and poetic ways. Free time finds him exploring the backroads, hiking trails and mountain ranges of the American West with his wife Denise.
