Facedown on First Street by Daniel Guido

See a man in his thirties
Thoughts overwhelming
Who leaps from a building
To elope with the floor

His arms are flailing
And as he’s descending
He sees a pale face
From a dark corridor

Her eyes start wilting
His legs keep tilting
And he laughs at the moment
He’s halfway down

It was love at first sight
Yet a little too late
She spread out her thin arms
His tie flowed like a gown

Did she think she could catch him?
And did his laugh echo?
Moments before his face
Painted the ground?

With a hand to her lips
She walked away slowly
And discarded the sight
Without making a sound

Perhaps it didn’t matter,
As they came to chatter
About the man who laid flatly
In a pool of his love

And she’ll wonder, probably,
If terminal velocity
Might’ve felt a little like
A flight among doves

--

An aspiring author, Daniel thrives on crafting dark and intricate stories. His enthusiasm for reading, writing, occasional procrastination, and blasting music pour fuel on his creative pursuits.

One Irreversible Step for Mankind by Dan Raphael

1)

want to step outside but can’t get that far without circling
as people do when lost, in a much varied old growth forest
or in acres of hazelnuts planted symmetrically
like the holes in Chinese checkers

as office towers can only be the same if built simultaneously
as pyramids are always disguising something—refuse heaps, libraries,
evidence of civilizations no one knew about to forget, like parts of the earth
that heal too quickly to scar, a day the holes in the clouds had right angles
and there must have been at least 4 suns for it to move that quickly


2)

my neck is stiff from so much looking up, the sidewalk is sloppier than the street,
no craftsmanship, little attention to what’s thrown where, houses at different levels
to avoid sight lines, people paid to stroll and analyze windows—
what kind of treatments, how many cats, can I see all the way through
flag lots, easements, naming rights sold for street names but
who wants to live on starbucks street or target boulevard

with houses corralled closer together, addresses with decimal points
fences replaced with laser beams carrying and creating data, subtly culling
the herds of squirrels and rats--security genetics, a legally mandated end
of petlessness, new vaccine for isolation, an addiction to prescriptions


3)

when I stir
as if I had slept
all windows and doors removed
all art and documents unframed and unhung
no brand names or ingredients
a sink with four unlabeled faucets
a toilet not made for people
vertical and horizontal renegotiated

decide quickly. others are coming

--

Dan Raphael’s last two books are In the Wordshed (Last Word Press, ’22) and Moving with Every (Flowstone Press, ’20.) More recent poems appear in Umbrella Factory, Concision, Brief Wilderness, Packingtown and Unlikely Stories. Most Wednesdays Dan writes and records a current events poem for The KBOO Evening News.

"How Do I Get Myself to Do This Without Regretting It Immediately?" by Ace Boggess

                question asked by Andrea Fekete


Speak to your late father in a language not his own.
Speak English to absent friends.

Listen to a blues record &
feel the joy of sadness.

Tell your angry lover
you’ve fallen into the sky & won’t come down.

Stand in a queue at the bus stop.
Don’t get on the bus.

Listen to what wind tells you.
It has never been misleading, never wrong.

--

Ace Boggess is author of six books of poetry, most recently Escape Envy. His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Notre Dame Review, Harvard Review, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes and tries to stay out of trouble. His seventh collection, Tell Us How to Live, is forthcoming in 2024 from Fernwood Press.

Yo Recuerdo Puerto Vallarta (I Remember Puerto Vallarta) by John RC Potter

                        (written in Spanish and translated into English by the author)

Recuerdos. Aquellos días lejanos.
El sol. El mar. La playa. La vista.
Y supuesto, la música,
la música navideña:
¡Feliz Navidad! ¡Feliz Navidad!
Mis recuerdos son como una película.
Yo recuerdo tu cara,
pero no tu nombre.

Pensé que era amor.
Pero ¿qué es el amor?
Un momento en el tiempo;
en un lugar especial.
A veces pienso en ti.
Un joven hermoso.
Por desgracia, olvidé quién eras,
pero no puedo olvidar al hombre.

*

Memories. Those distant days.
The sun. The sea. The beach. The view.
And of course, the music,
the Christmas music:
Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!
My memories are like a film.
I remember your face,
but not your name.

I thought it was love.
But what is love?
A moment in time,
in a special place.
Sometimes I think of you.
A beautiful young man.
Unfortunately, I forgot who you were,
but I can’t forget the man.

John RC Potter is a Canadian living in Istanbul. Recent publications: Prose - “A Garden In Winter” (Erato Magazine); Poetry - “No Religion In Heaven” (Poetry Catalog); Review – Tezer Özlü’s Cold Nights of Childhood (New English Review). Highlight: “Tomato Heart" (Poetry, Disturb the Universe Magazine) - Best of the Net Nominee. The author’s gay-themed children’s picture book, The First Adventures of Walli and Magoo, is scheduled for publication. https://johnrcpotterauthor.com

I Gave It One Star by John Grey

A friend recommends
a movie to me.

I finally get around
to seeing it.

And I hate
every 103 minutes
of the thing.

So I doubt my friend’s
good taste
but not his friendship.

“What’d you think?”
he asks me,
a week or so later.

“Loved it,”
I tell him.

It’s not so much a lie
as an answer
to a previous question.

--

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Birmingham Arts Journal, La Presa and Shot Glass Journal.

The Way of The Hearts by Kushal Poddar

As much as we would prefer to meet
eachother as a part of a stone paved path
or to find us held between the orange soda
and the Celtic blue sky besides those
miniature icebergs and those red and
white straws sucking the carbonated sighs
we would meet afloat in the ethernet
or in a slow and sweaty bus journeying
to the heaps of papers or flat screens.
That too is a beginning. Autumn comes.

--

The author of 'Postmarked Quarantine' and 'How To Burn Memories Using a Pocket Torch' has ten books to his credit. He is a journalist, father of a four-year-old, illustrator, and an editor. His works have been translated into twelve languages and published across the globe.

After That by Paul Dickey

You will only get one first wife.
After that,
there isn’t any limit.
After while
though, the law will haul you in,

tell you
You too have seen enough of sorry,
enough to tears.
You stand caught with the goods,
convicted

of breaking and entering your own home.
Lovers
will, turn the moon back and blue,
cover
up their crimes. You go back to the scene

plotting
ways the crimes would have been perfect,
After that,
you give up and cry out
with Job

that it is too late for mercy.


--

Paul Dickey has appeared recently in Plume, The Midwest Quarterly, Laurel Review, I-70 Review, Plainsongs, failbetter.com, and Apple Valley Review. His recent book of poetry volume was released in September, 2022 in Anti-Realism in Shadows and Suppertime. He has also released in the past year a volume of flash fiction by What My Characters Should Have Said and a poetry chapbook A Reading of Dali (Likely Misundersood) Which is Twenty Meters Becomes This Poet's Self - portrait.

When I Knew You by Paulette Hampton

I clamored above the darkness
To see the sun rise blood red
I flew into the heavens
To hear the kind words the world once said
I crashed into hell
To feel the remorse and regret
and nothing has come close
to the awe, love, and pain I felt when I knew you

--

Paulette Hampton holds a Masters in Reading Education. She has self-published two books and has had her poetry accepted by several online magazines.

After Many Years by David Sydney

"Mel? Mel Cromley?"

"Right… And it's?…"

"Fred. Fred Dwarkin…Remember me?"

Mel and Fred hadn't seen one another in years.

"Of course, Dwarkin."

What were the chances of such a meeting on a street in Philadelphia?

"I thought you were dead, Mel."

"No… No, I haven't died."

"Not in a car accident, huh?"

Fred seemed to recall hearing that Mel died in an accident.

"No… No car accident, Fred. I did have a skiing accident, though."

Skiing, huh?

Fred couldn't believe it. Mel, so uncoordinated, taking up skiing? And not dying in a skiing accident either?

--

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, Entropy Squared, and Rue Scribe.

Poem to Poem by Merritt Waldon

for Thom (the World Poet) Woodruff


Poet to poet
Poem to poem
Footprints to photograph
DNA of tomorrow
Re-assembled in moments
For sand castle tides

Poet to poet
Poem to poem
Fingerprints of prosody
DNA of eternity
Re-assembled in voices
For playground slides

Poet to poet
Poem to poem
Ancient fire to electricity
DNA of madness
Re-assembled in hollows
For boot-leggers of love

Poet to poet
Poem to poem
Spirits to eclectic seraph
DNA of disobedience
Re-assembled in revolutions
For a consciousness of lights

--

Merritt Waldon b 1974. Madison, Indiana. Has been published in numerous publications nationally and internationally. He has 5 books of poetry. His first: Oracles From A Strange Fire by Merritt Waldon and Ron Whitehead. (Cajun Mutt Press, 2020). He lives in Austin, Indiana.

The American Dream by Skaja Evens

It’s a damn challenge to not give in. Do not give up, either.

Trying to keep it together to appear moderately functional in an extraordinary life in a world that would rather beat you down to keep you beige and mediocre.

The exceptional are occasionally revered until they dare step out of line. Then they are forgotten as quickly as discovered. And attention moves to the Next Big Thing.

Unless you can be exploited for ratings, devoid of entertainment value.
Anything for a quick buck.

My heart hurts a lot, trying to find my own way.
I’ve never fit into the compartment this world demands of me.

The self-proclaimed gurus will sell you something they don’t really have. Dressed up in pretty imagery where you, too, can have the life they advertise for only four payments of more money than you’ll ever see in a lifetime.

Surely your future happiness is worth going into debt for someone else’s half-baked opinions. Just give up anything that makes right now worth living, and you’ll afford the life of your dreams!

While those in power laugh behind closed doors, brainstorming ways to squeeze blood from a stone.

I am in so much pain. But so is everyone else, so who cares, right?
There are plenty that have it worse than me.
Suck it up, buttercup, and fall in line.
You’re nothing special, and if you can’t pick up the slack, we’ll find someone to take your place.

Be that machine cog and be grateful for any morsel of happiness.

What a joke, yeah?

Pay attention to who’s laughing.

--

Skaja Evens is a Best of the Net-nominated writer living in SE Virginia. Her work has appeared in Medusa's Kitchen, The Rye Whiskey Review, Synchronized Chaos, Mad Swirl, Spillwords Press, Ink Pantry, Blue Pepper, among others. Her first book, conscientia veritatis, from Whiskey City Press, is available on Amazon.

Homo-Studen by Heath Brougher

The Noon Multiverse will continue
multiversing as I sail
with a snail in in a saltine glass
awaiting sapiens to realize
evolution has spun off-hinge
as “survival of the fittest”
has been replaced with
“survival of the most technologically adaptive”—
a void within an abyss—
evolution spun with flights of false fancy—
abstractions of abstractions of abstractions.

I’ll never forget the words “no logic”
are used to build the words “technologically aloof.”

--

Heath Brougher is the editor-in-chief of Concrete Mist Press and former poetry editor for Into the Void Magazine, winner of the 2017 and 2018 Saboteur Awards. He is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Nominee; he was awarded the 2018 Poet of the Year Award from Taj Mahal Review. He is the author of 12 books and has a new book forthcoming titled "Beware the Bourgeois Doomsday Fantasy." He has spent the last few years editing the work of others but is officially ready to get back into the creative driver seat.