Two by David Sydney

“Harry, do you see two flies there?”
“Where?”
“In my oatmeal.”
They were at the counter of AL'S DINER that Thursday morning for breakfast. Otto pointed with his spoon – Otto, who disliked flies so much. Harry stared at the oatmeal.
“No… No, that's only half a fly.”
“Half?”
“Look over there. That's its head floating
over there in the bowl, Otto.”
The fly's body squirmed. Its legs moved. Decapitated flies can do that since they have decentralized nervous systems.
Without a head, a fly can live for several days, moving about aimlessly and even having sex, if it can be called living. While grooming itself, a fly may occasionally knock its own head off. Of course, a spoon inadvertently coming down at the junction of a fly's head and thorax will have the same effect.
“Thanks, Harry.”
He dipped his spoon into the lukewarm cereal with relief, removing first the active body, then the bulbous head.
“You know, for a moment there, I thought there were at least two of ‘em in there.”

--

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, Grey Sparrow Journal, Bright Flash Literary Review, Disturb the Universe, Pocket Fiction, R U Joking, Every Writer Magazine, Literary Revelations Journal, Sip Cup, Mad Swirl, Hotch Potch Magazine, A Story In 100 Words, and Rue Scribe.

Frankenstein’s Creature is Welcomed by Manny Grimaldi

Adrift, I sniffed around
the rain-sopped road,
arrived in Van Lear at a blind woman’s welcome.
She offered chow-chow relish on her porch, mixed
well with a meal of potatoes with biscuit gravy.

Silent. Then her arm snapped
out to touch, so sudden
I could hear the folds of her sleeve crisping
in the stillness.
She studied me.

It’s chilly with the skin off your bones.

Blind woman called me “brother-brother,” trembling,
pulling back,
then a lie about my clothes. Her uncle “back in Portsmouth
could make better rags than these.” Her lame hand shaking
as loose tobacco, handled by a drunk smoker, fumble-
fingering the roll of some Golden Virginia, her shoulders sobbed.
I asked why she cried. She was smiling.

“When I wake up in the morning, come
out to feel the sun, I see
no rainbows in the rain, & live with it everyday.
I only feel the storm—everyone dead, or moved away.”

--

Manny Grimaldi is a Kentucky writer and editor. He is editor at Yearling Poetry Journal, in Lexington, Kentucky. He authored a self-published poetry collection, Riding Shotgun with the Mothman, and a chapbook, Ex Libris Ioannes Cerva (by anonymus scriptus). Manny looks toward a nearing book release with Whiskey City Press. He can be reached at http://mannygrimaldi.mypixieset.com.

my friend esteban by Gerard Manogue

he was first to notice
the ants coming through the front door
“so many so many so many”

i listen to mac miller’s faces
the album we first bonded over
when i want to remember him

at the club, he once said
“she looks like she wants to dance”
pointing to the girl next to me

and he taught me to notice
the bass line of a steely dan song
the sugar of mexican coke
the white flowers on the trees
“so many so many so many”
how to say pain in spanish: dolor

in the back seat of the taxi
he said about making money
“you can either work hard now or later”
with a beautiful woman sitting next to him

he taught me to notice
the yellow flowers on the trees
“so many so many so many”

he said about meritocracy
“what kind of car do you want to drive?”
when he first pointed out
the ants coming through the back door
“so many so many so many”

the old folks on the subway
laughed as they watched him
down a bottle of yogurt-flavored soju

--

Gerard Manogue is a poet from Southern California. He is sending out poems to little magazines again after a long hiatus. He loves the English language. See his other work at gerardmanogue.wordpress.com

Anything by Philip Athans

It comes down to faith, to belief, and
centuries of a single repeated message
reinforced by parents, teachers, politicians, clergymen,
                hucksters.

The power of,
a leap of, and ultimately
taking comfort in
                faith.

And that to doubt is cynicism, arrogance,
a transgression
against our most cherished
                belief,

that Keith Raniere is the Smartest Man in the World™
that David Koresh is Jesus Himself (Isaiah, 41.13)
that L. Ron Hubbard discovered the Bridge to Total Freedom®

All the rest of them,
all the same,
building on one proven
                fact.

If you can get them to believe in God,
it shows
they’ll believe in
                anything.

--

Editor and author Philip Athans has been a driving force behind varied media including Alternative fiction & poetry magazine and Wizards of the Coast. He lives and works in the Pacific Northwest.

At Our Convenience by Anthony Ward

As temperatures rise,
The world heats up-
In consideration to the future of mankind
Having expelled too much gas to the atmosphere-

The bloated ocean will expand its dominance over the land,
Force us to run for the hills,
Shelter from the war-torn weather that will reign over us
In the extreme environment of our hostility.

We only notice extinction in its bloom,
Never see its growth while it’s happening,
Only determine the difference after it’s gone.
Putting off our tomorrows what we didn’t do today.

We put out nature for of own convenience,
Welcoming the warmer winters.
Not wanting to know,
Like an addict
Denying they have a problem,
Until it ends up being your problem,
While we continue to indulge ourselves,
Escaping the gravity of the situation
As we try to reach our space.

--

Anthony loves the way words sound through silence. He is inspired by the nature of the world and the expression of art as humanity decrees to discover itself. He writes to express the overwhelming beauty of the natural world with the inspiring admiration of artistic creativity. He has recently been published in Shot Glass Journal, Jerry Jazz Musician, Dear Booze, and Mad Swirl.

Indecision by Linette Rabsatt

My heart said yes
I felt I was ready
I was like
We got this together
With the heart as the lead
I didn't have time to heed
Or the need to obey
Conventions or tenets
The heart was the superior organ
That told me to leap
And never follow the course
But the brain
Who I feel is mostly insane
Wanted me to stop
And be careful
Reminding me to be fearful
But I want whimsy
I need spontaneity
I need to feel less pressured
To do better
When the brain kicked
My heart in the privates
I almost felt that the sound
Was heard in public
I was torn and confused
Not knowing which road to choose
Or who to listen to
My body stood stationary
Confused by the impulses
Twisted and confused, riddling with convulsing
Passion halted by indecision
I gave up and made no move forward
Stuck

--

Linette Rabsatt is a Virgin Islands poet with roots in the BVI and USVI who began writing in 1996. You can find her work in her Kindle book, "Be Inspired: Poems by Linette Rabsatt," in Pulse Poetry Magazine, on her blog, Words of Ribbon, and on the Visual Verse and Micromance Magazine websites.

a snuff film by J.J. Campbell

these are the days
where the pain
breaks you down
and leaves you
in agony

where the beautiful
women are ugly

and the clouds
bring you joy

the more you
wish for death
the further it
seems to be

the shotgun in the
corner is there for
a reason

life has become
a snuff film

depravity that
would make
the devil blush

nightfall in
the mountains

listen to the silence

--

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is a 3 time Best Of The Net nominee and was recently nominated for The Pushcart Prize. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Synchronized Chaos, The Dope Fiend Daily, Yellow Mama and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)