And clocks
++they decide
inside of every one
++of what was
and went missing
++which calls
for the newness of old
++what blood
and what skin and bone
++I’ll have a little
of that please Please
++me just this time
_________________________________

Parker Tettleton’s work has appeared in DOGZPLOT, > kill author, elimae and Mud Luscious, among others. His chapbook Same Opposite was recently published by Thunderclap Press. He blogs at http://parker-augustlight.blogspot.com/.

Gleaming chrome hemostats++Bright lights
Cold lights++Brilliant lights++Lots of sheets

Why do some lipsticks
Have the color of blood
Or the claw marks of a stray animal?

I stood at the window staring at shadows
On concrete++Thinking shivery slivers
Of thought++Inventing things
Like the++throwaway paper thermometer

Or a beautiful nurse’s breasts
The sleet outside went perfectly
With the hissing oxygen
My slouch was familiar
My silence an armada of silent consonants

______________________________

John McKernan is now a retired comma herder. He lives — mostly — in West Virginia where he edits ABZ Press. His most recent book is RESURRECTION OF THE DUST. He specializes in depleted semicolons and the repair and recovery of derelict exclamation points.

When I thought of leaving,
I saw the neon gleam
of streetside shops, the glow
on the brown and gray
brick but I said,
“Impossible,”
and just as quickly,
the veil drew over
my eyes again.
But for a moment,
sea-salt air and that giddy
rise up of the sight
to the point where city light
obscures the recesses
of bottomless night,
that big hungry belly.
For a moment
a memory of grit of shoe
on sidewalk.
Going somewhere,
for sure.
Then back to my life,
a long long hallway
of closed doors,
boxes stacked and teetering
along the walls.
I’m hemmed in.
I’d go to ruin for you.
I’d go to ruin
for anyone.

_____________________

Mary Ann Honaker holds a B.A. in philosophy from West Virginia University and a Masters of Theological Studies from Harvard Divinity School.  She has previously published poetry in Harvard’s The Dudley Review, Crawlspace, Gold Dust, Dappled Things, Hoi Polloi, The Foliate Oak, The Gloom Cupboard and Euphony.  In her writings she primarily explores the transformative power of love and the intersection of the spiritual world with mundane reality.  She currently lives in Salem, Massachusetts with her husband, Matthew Bender.

My greatest fear
is losing the will
to eat fruit.
Color vision
developed this way.
When did the plants
figure that out?
How did they know
that to survive,
they needed to be eaten?
They have no fear.
Did rods and cones
come before that?

When did the frugivores
unite and fool the produce?
Is that bastard mango
really the end of the line?
The kingdom of plants
may rise once again
and have the
last laugh.
But they depend on me.

____________________________

Steven Prutzman, a former wildlife researcher, moved to writing journalism, fiction and poetry after graduating from college, and then worked for some time as a technical writer for a software company. He has lived in Arkansas, Florida, and Queensland, Australia. He now resides in Austin, Texas.

For the train. Estoy esperando para el tren.
For the tea to steep. Estoy esperando para el te.
For the significance of a subtle compliment. Significada.
For Janet to call and for the customer to email me back. Esperando.
For the Tylenol to take effect. For the alarm clock to ring.
For the shuffling of feet in the hallway and for the smell of
tobacco. For the mail to come with this year’s Penny’s Christmas Catalog
with new sales schedule. For 6 o’clock. For Friday. For the first sign
of salvation and for a missed call on my cell phone. For January 16 because
of the promotion, and for a sense of fulfillment despite the promotion. For the cat to die. For the moon to look through the curtains dispelling.
For blue eyes in the night instead of just yellow, for blue tears to sprout
daises when the moonlight turns white.
For daises that smell like tobacco.

________________________

Laura Drell lives and writes in Austin, Texas.