Issue XXXI

31.


The following selections are from our 2015 printed journal.

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Editors:
Cameron Johnson/ Mattie Khan/ Mackenzie Kuntz/ Emilie Mathews/ Samm Saxby/ Jen Sparano/ Marcus H. Vigil/ Jalean Webb

Advisor(s):
Wendy Bourgeois

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in print CONTENTS:

  • If You Are Named Pussy Riot….. Michael S. Morris
  • Clean?….. Marcus H. Vigil
  • Solace Happens….. Clayton Cranford
  • If I Wasn’t Me, Then Who Would I Be?….. Mattie Khan
  • All The Things That You Are….. Andrew Gibbons
  • Moebius Tones….. Patrick S. Roger
  • Reflection….. Jessica Schillo
  • How To Murder Your English Teacher….. Nana Othman
  • I Still Love You And Shit That Really Hurts….. Jalean Webb
  • Go The Distance….. Mackenzie Kuntz
  • Nora….. Jennifer Sparano
  • Mama Kitty….. Emilie Mathews
  • i love you like an alcoholic….. Anna Jenelle
  • Motel In The Woods….. Ian T. Moore
  • Highway 99….. Steve Haskin
  • A Poem From A Haunted New England Landscape….. Kennth DiMaggio
  • Cars For Christ….. Jessica Funaro
  • I Imagine It’s Like The Bends….. Paula Yup
  • Land Of The Missing And Exploited Children….. E.P. Fisher
  • your hand in mine….. Cameron Johnson
  • I Heard In The Midst of Noises….. E.P. Fisher
  • Art….. Larry E. Graham
  • Wildturkey & Hypnotique….. Samm Saxby

Selections


Mobius Tones
by Patrick S. Rogers

You like to dance with a drink in your hand-
It’s when you see red strips on my collar,
and I can’t say if it’s blood or lipstick.
Two cigs float in a glass of chardonnay,
ants crawl from a hair crack in the ceiling.
It is just that ribbons are pretty rings
or the line that flaps in a wind. And I
get it; you don’t want one without the other.
What if I were to sit down? Would you not hear?
Means you aren’t bound to either death or sex.
The kids laugh, drown my pissing split stream.
It’s what towels are for. To play guitar
beneath the trees or in the bath is not
the same thing, and our fall is not not spring.

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Art
by Larry E. Graham

“I don’t get it,” she said, scratching her head. “It’s a painting of a pie.”
“It’s a painting of life,” he said.
“It’s a pie.”
“It’s life.”
“Pie.”
“Life.”
She smashed the painting into his face. “Pie.”
“Life,” he said. “And I rest my case.”

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Lenora Ko 2015