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Call for Submissions
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Frances Lefkowitz
Buckling, Gasping, and Dead
The trick to falling is to do it in the up direction, betraying gravity but following the wind. Try it six times, in a hurry, as if you were pouring coffee from the unstable top step of a ladder, the musky smell of clove and skunk rising back toward
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Chloe Poizat Feature
We are delighted to present a developing feature showing the work of French artist and illustrator Chloe Poizat. We’re beginning with just a few images, but hope to have more in the near future. Click on the FEATURES link above or go directly to
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An Important Note from Meg Pokrass
I can’t sleep because it is not necessary, a bath won’t help, I have a bath but it is not one I will use and last week he did not have any problems and also the sound of the ocean pleases me; can’t sleep because under is a sub-continent, a captain
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Kim Herzinger Feature
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Lori Ostlund Feature
We’re pleased to publish today a short feature on Lori Ostlund, including a wonderful story and a short interview. Please look on the FEATURES page or just click here.
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Kelly Renick
I just wish you didn’t feel the need
You are mostly silent but when you do speak you take that tone with me.
My bones break easily. You see me as fragile, watch where I walk, wrap my ankles in cotton when it rains. The doctor pulls my bones apart, bends my wrist back, pushes in a way
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Tablets
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Matt Salesses
Opposite of Succubus?
The Asian girl was a graphic designer. I stole her ideas when I could. She said she gave them to me. She had a thing about gifts. You couldn’t take anything from her. That was what frustrated me the most; she made everything I stole seem like a favor.
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One hundred words
We’re looking for 100–200 word pieces of fiction, nonfiction, or other, key element that they be interesting and not run-of-mill fare. If interested, send to us using this email link: Send me to BLIP at once!
Our fine staff of editors will
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Julia Johnson
Transparent Horse (I)
Equine anatomy fills the room,
a muzzle at the edge of the rug,
its pastern between the coronet and fetlock,
you are happy it is evening.
The cannon bone is spectacular and sharp,
and I hold the left one
to the light. -
Nicholas Cook
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Len Kuntz
Ancient
“What’s the matter with you?” she asks.
Years ago I had a lot of time and would answer such idiotic questions. She was thin then, and used mascara, blush. Now everything’s loose and natural and I don’t like it one bit. Even the -
Jane Armstrong
Gri-Gri
Early in our association, the Warrior Poet said, “I’m a warrior poet. Before I walk into a place, I look around to make sure I can kill everyone in the room with my bare hands.”
Now the Warrior Poet is dead. Self-inflicted.
My father. WWII. U.S. Army, frontline infantry. Battle of the Bulge. Bronze Star. Purple Heart.
Before he shoots himself, he tries to take a couple of people out with him. My evil ex-stepmother, her current husband. The bullets graze the husband, but miss the stepmother. She hits the floor, plays dead, and prays and prays to her snow-globe Jesus, her cow face pressed against filthy carpet.
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Margaret Benjamin
It came to him him that ten of his thirty facebook friends had breast cancer and were running running races.
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Margaret Benjamin is the author of “Turtles and Magic,” a chapbook. She lives with her partner in Fresno, California, where -
Inspiring Films
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Meg Pokrass
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Eugene Corr
Ended up in SF headed back to BART after midnight — girls in their teens and twenties in tight shiny dresses, high heels, makeup, carefully coiffed and sexy a few hours before but now stumbling, hairdos coming apart, dress seams splitting on the heavier
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Cooper Renner
Nurse Normal
“Nurse normal,” the swain says every time the baby cries. “Like the cows do.”
Nurse normal with the naïve genius of the squat.
Nurse the merely dumb who can neither mumble nor squeak.
Nurse the bland and faint who
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Once was