Literature that Burns like Wildfire.
Fleets of buses and trucks jockeyed for position along Northern Boulevard, but Gayl stared ahead looking at nothing in particular. Shoulder pressed against the vertical box of sealed-off space, her cupped hands cradled the phone like she was whispering in someone’s ear. Red panels enclosed the base of the phone booth, providing coverage from her …
“Listen, I have to tell you something.” I almost hung up the phone then because I just didn’t want to hear it. I mean, I knew it already, I knew it in the tone of his voice, but in reality I knew it in his posture—and in his eyes that no longer met mine. I …
Continue reading “i was born in nineteen seventy…whatever” By Sybil Wilen
I’m rubbing the dimples of the backside of a paragraph, feeling the remains of your tone. Summer sweat is now replaced with damp skin under quilts. Growling within the baseboard heater is an echo resembling the sound of kids sloshing about pool water. I watch the Shih Tzu figurine sitting on my typewriter and listen …
"Do it!" whispered Jon. I glanced up the aisle, shelves filled with trinkets and toys. The local stationary store resembled a carnival midway, with colorful concessions as far as the eye could see. For months we had shoplifted here; small tokens of bravery from Matchbox cars to key chains. None had any real value to …
at the first sign of rain i went outside into our tiny square of a backyard, took the fishing rod. (the one we used twice a year) (if we were lucky). (from the wall of the garage) (the line still tangled all around everything). i put the spare hooks through my lip (you wouldn't approve) i …
These things I tell you,you will never regret: Love the speed of that cloud in frontof the moon and you will never take forgranted the color of a clear day.Talk kindly to not only animals but alsoto flowers and weeds.Learn to compost.Understand how everything effectseverything. Be humble enoughto pick up the shit of your ownfriendly …
I want all buildings to be old buildings. I want brick walls or older than brick walls. Caves underneath the base of the houses that the houses were built on, walls creased in limestone or granite or ash. Walls that speak when you touch them. I want old lantern lights that illuminate only a small …
Continue reading “Bring Me Your Dead, Your Dying” By Shilo Niziolek
I—an existential antimony of meatballs, kimchi on the side. The man in front of me is American, open-faced & blue-blooded. Seoul is so strident, he says of the weather. I abstain from dimples because of too much practice; besides, niceties are servile. His eyes are green like money and cannabis. He wants to touch my …
A blast of damp, frigid air blustered through the opened doors of Marlow’s Tavern. The cold wake skirted past the punters, rushing the bar before they did. The barman Brian Legarty felt it raise a chill on his bare arms and watched it lift the flimsy Christmas decorations tacked to the dull walls, making them …
We were at the quarry again. The quarry is the closest thing to a beach for people like us, who didn’t live in fancy private lake communities and were not a near drive to any public beaches. The quarry didn’t seem like much to folks who hadn’t grown up near it and been forced to …
Continue reading “The Rock That Can’t Be Reached” By D.C. Gonk
