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Cover
Table of Contents
Editor's Notes
Donations
Submission
Guidelines
Website
Stories
& Essays
A Day In the
Life
_ By
Sida Li
Eight
Minutes
_ By
Michael Gettings
Jesusland
_ By
Max Gordon
One September Morning
_ By
Brian G. Ross
Patrimony
_ By
Len Joy
Reading Between the Lines
_ By
Michael Gettings
Scarring Truth
_ By
M.W. Hamel
Snapshots of the Ordinary
_ By
Monica Lee
Spirals
_ By
Robert Connal
Stars
_ By
Daliso Chaponda
The Jury
_ By
Jeremy Tavares
The Thief
_ By
Marva Dasef
The Train to Pennsylvania
_ By
C.L. Atkins
Poetry
735 Miles to Nootka Island
_ By
Nicholas D. Klacsanzky
Al Fresco Cafe Poems #125
_ By
Duane Locke
Al Fresco Cafe Poems #127
_ By
Duane Locke
Barnstormer
_ By
Lynn Strongin
Gilded Candy
_ By
Mina Blue
Marriage 2
_ By
Christine Redman-Waldeyer
Memo to Italy
_ By
Andrew Francis
Rain, Your Words, and the Agony...
_ By
Betina Evancha
Sarcasm
_ By
Juliette Capra
Textbook
_ By
Christine Redman-Waldeyer
The Unspoken Eloquence of the Sword
_ By
Anne Nialcom
Three Shades of Grey
_ By
Monica Lee
We Pay
_ By
Betina Evancha
White Dread
_ By
David Snyder
Writing
_ By
Betina Evancha
Art
& Photography
Keira Anderson
_ Photography
Anne-Julie
Aubry
_ Paintings
Whitney
Clegg
_ Photography
and Drawings
Eman Reharno Jeman
_ Photography,
Graffiti, and Drawings
Mike Pomery
_ Paintings
Jennifer Robbins-Mullin
_ Photography
Madia Krisnadi Widodo
_ Photography
Penny Wilson
_ Mixed
Media and Digital Art
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The
Train to Pennsylvania
By
C.L. Atkins
I’m on the train to the 30th Street Station, carrying a tux and a carry-on bag of clothes and toothpaste. I sit one seat down and to the left of someone my age, carrying something of the same luggage. He takes out a pad and a pen, like the ones I have in my hand, and begins to write.
I watch his hand movements closely—he is a poet. He doesn’t write to the margin, but stops at the middle or even before that, and then continues on the next line. It’s a long poem he’s writing. He doesn’t notice me. I'm the writer a little bit behind and to the left of the other writer—funny.
There’s no doubt about it now—he’s definitely a poet: he hides his pad as the ticket man comes.
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C.L. ATKINS is a pensive 18-year old and prospective college student, slated to break free from the shackles of parental oppression and the overbearing plainness of white suburbia this coming August. For the time being, however, he lives with his supportive parents, and that dog from
Frasier. Albert Camus, Diane DiPrima, and Franz Kafka are all responsible for his desire to write.
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