Tamara Burross-Grisanti ~ Four Stories

Broken Cakes

Autumn is my bur­den. My morn­ings come mid-after­noon. I crawl out of bed by the light between the pur­ple vel­vet cur­tains from my failed sec­ond-mar­riage bed­room. I take a swig of vod­ka to wet my cracked lips, light a cig­a­rette on the fumes of my next breath.

My eldest daugh­ter is vis­it­ing. She got sick match­ing shots with me last night. I held her hair over the toi­let I have not cleaned in months

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Sheldon Lee Compton ~ After Watching Ido Mizrahy’s Film Gored — July 9, 2015

I couldn’t real­ly say why I hadn’t killed the bull. Not right away, when every­one kept ask­ing. I struck at it sev­er­al times in the exact spot I should, but I could not sink the blade. I couldn’t say to my friends inside the vehi­cle what had hap­pened, after the bull­fight, but I knew. I knew exact­ly what had hap­pened. It was the bull’s tear that par­a­lyzed me. Although my body seemed to move

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Sandra Kolankiewicz ~ Two Poems

Before the Desert

  Before the desert, I shook trees for you, beat bush­es, trav­eled far and wide, high and low, both inside and out through the course of unfor­tu­nate con­se­quences, the def­i­n­i­tion of matu­ri­ty that I final­ly rec­og­nize my sense of self as an illu­sion.  I was in the same mind as she who is doing some­thing she will lat­er regret.  When you hang

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Gail Louise Siegel ~ As Vulnerable As We Are

2013-01-20 13.41.52Far above: a jet descends. As if pulled by an invis­i­ble hand behind a mag­net­ic game board.

Gods play with car and boat and plane-shaped pawns from the oth­er side.

Throw the die, and tokens scoot along. Go to jail or plum­met down to hell.

Twin engines nes­tle against the plane’s body, naked as tes­ti­cles.

~

Gail Louise Siegel’s work appears in places from Ascent to Wigleaf

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