Puppeteer lived with his grandmother in a house that smelled of mold and incense, a house known in the barrio as La Casa del Humo. Clients would sit in the living room couch waiting to be called into a dark room. The grandmother would hand them a lighted cigarette they’d pinch lightly between their fingers…. Read more »
A Mortgage of the Moon Our tears were given eyes we wrangled with our vivacity and became our own bans The hollering of stars reaches the earth before skies I untangled death’s hair and lengthened my lies Sleep plays with eyes a game of marbles The evening tholes hypocrite colors I mortgaged a moon to… Read more »
Will we be envious of our human state in future, as we look back at our ‘fleshy’ era?
BLANK PICTURE So I’m told to venture out to the rough end of the city each industry partly dead I put two and two together god I was out of my element each way possible this weirdo my pack and lanyard pressed slacks I said to myself take today as a chance to widen… Read more »
When we got to the casket in that dark, ghost-filled room at 10,000 feet in elevation. The pioneer ghosts sat on their haunches around me, too exhausted to look up from under their bonnets, dead babies in their arms. I heard the swishing of ghost pebbles in hopeful pans – Leadville, the home of gold hunters. The mountains made of stone and money.
Now accepting original work in fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. One winner from each genre will receive a $500 cash prize and publication in Issue 54, due out this spring. All entires will be considered for online publication.
Get Real: Once Upon a Time in Central Park
by Carla Stockton
“We like to present classic stories performed in a classic manner. That’s what we believe puppetry is about, and it’s what our audiences want from us,” explains Cannon. “Puppetry is the perfect marriage of all the performing arts, and we have an opportunity to show them all off in the very best light. But sometimes we like to change things up just a bit.”
Word Hole #3
INFINITY FACEBOOK: The Profile Pic Sympathy Enhancer
by Michelle Hogmire
“But fret not, my Faithful Facebookers, my lap-topped, tableted, smart-phoned, socially conscious sympathizers-from-afar. Here at Facebook, we feel your pain; we want all your “friends” to know about your UNICEF donations, just as much as you do. Perhaps even more.”
POETRY – 4 Poems by Paul Jolly
Rotgut Piano Sign on warehouse: Piano liquidation. Like the pet shelter, the piano warehouse has a kill date for each puppy. If someone doesn’t take it home, into the vat it goes, grand or upright. Next door a neon-lit piano bar. Mack at the piano bar keeps a keg in the backroom. It’s bootleg, of course,… Read more »
MUSIC – Wasted Callaway by Nai Br.XX
Her voice is river-like, moving and deep.
FICTION – Panegyre by Louise Phillips
They meet every summer. This year there is a rodeo on the opening night, where they are given ostrich skin cowboy boots with their initials stitched in gold. Canada wears a wide-brimmed Stetson and trades blue jokes with the United States. They both rib Japan, whose predecessor was tossed out over a sex scandal. Britain… Read more »
TRANSLATION – Fishhooks by Renée Vivien, translated by Cara Dees
Fishhooks One day, a Scotsman, a childhood friend, showed me his collection of fishhooks. “Look,” he said. “This is a real museum. These fishhooks you see are works of art. To lure salmon that feed on iridescent swarms of flies, we devise delicate fishhooks in gold, green, blue, and violet. Some are made of pheasant feathers (and you… Read more »
ART – Dream Streams by Mark Blickley and Amy Bassin
(We) were enthralled by the Dadaist experiments that combined fine art photography with poetic texts.
POETRY – 4 Poems by Janelle Rainer
Tiger Highway There’s a dead crow next to mile marker 377. Looks like a shard of tire from afar, then takes shape for what it is. The crow is on its back in the middle of the road, feathers blue-black like the surface of a deep lake. The beak points skywards, open. Do we ever… Read more »
NONFICTION – Pinhole by Jinny Koh
It was the time of the night when the whole world was so silent that even the cats that scour the streets were asleep. My mother stood against the wall, hidden in the dark. The lights from the street lamps cast a shadow on her, feathering the edges of her silhouette so that for a moment, she was once again soft and beautiful.
MUSIC – Danzon(sito) by Charles Martin
This piece brings recalls preconceptions of “modern” tonality and “Latin” rhythms and forces them together in order to create a quirky, sort of wacky deconstructive feeling.
POETRY – 3 Poems by Nick Vagnoni
The tomatoes on the balcony have blown down
and everything sags with rain.
Get Real: Sounding It Out on Broadway
by Carla Stockton
“I am at the Richard Rogers Theater, watching the tech systems being loaded in for Hamilton’s opening on Broadway. The biggest show to come to Broadway, the most highly touted, the most expectantly awaited, and the Sound Supervisor is little Nicky Borisjuk, all grown up.”