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Cover
Table of Contents
Editor's Notes
Donations
Submission Guidelines
Website

Stories & Essays
Copy Machine Repair Guy
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By D.E. Fredd
Corrupted Youth
_ By Kurt Kirchmeier
Dragon's Breath
_ By Lionel Cheng
Even the Damned Deserve to Love
_ By Anna Cortez
Gifts
_ By Jocelyn Johnson
House of Cards
_ By Steven J. Dines
In Doubt
_ By Stephanie Thoma
Lipstick
_ By Michelle Baron
Old Biddy
_ By Claire Nixon
Quinceañera
_ By Hester Young
The Fiddler and the Faerie
_ By Samantha Rae
When Barky Smiles
_ By S.E. Diamond

Poetry
2 A.M. Window Shopping
_ By Chris McGuffin
Alison
_ By Harriet O. Leach
Cloudy New Year's Morning
_ By Richard Fein
Not Easy
_ By Samantha Ogust
On Hearing Li-Young Lee Read His Poetry
_ By Foster Dickson
Prelude and Coda
_ By Richard Fein
Rainy Night Meditation
_ By Harriet O. Leach
Retreat
_ By Richard MacAleese
Silage Team--Machete Thirst
_ By Leland Jamieson
Starlight
_ By Richard MacAleese
Stolen Phone
_ By Jorge Jameson
The Abandoned Playground
_ By Richard MacAleese
Thought Provoking Baked Crescent
_ By Chris McGuffin

Art & Photography
Daniel Bravo
_ Paintings
Tove Hedengren
_ Photography
Peter Huettenrauch
_ Photography
E. Hunting
_ Drawings and Digital Art
Robin McQuay
_ Drawings
Iris Onica
_ Paintings
Pete Revonkorpi
_ Digital Art
Roy Wangsa
_ Photography

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On Hearing Li-Young Lee Read His Poetry
By Foster Dickson


We drove north, talking about Confederate flags,
and one girl told bad jokes from a book. The
massive flag at Verbena waved for another girl
who didn’t believe we were serious. The billboard
that read “Go to Church or the Devil Will
Get You!” was covered over. When we got there,
the Chinese poet was silent, and then he got up.
He was fidgety and commented on his neuroses,
then read poems about love and Lake Michigan.
My ears dodged the ping-pong game going on
in the next room--“Who won that one?”--
and my eyes avoided the black paraplegic who
yawned, looked around, and flirted with people
behind us. Two stoned-looking hippies up front
folded their hands and smiled attentively, like
they probably thought they were supposed to. Poems
about Heaven and sex. When he was all done
I shook his hand, told him I enjoyed it, and
wanted to ask what he thought about Alabama
where some folks fly dead symbols or put up signs
about damnation, or where ping-pongers holler
during poetry readings, but I kept all that to myself.

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FOSTER DICKSON is a writer, teacher, editor, and poet who lives in Montgomery, Alabama. He has published poems, articles, short stories, and interviews online, in periodicals, and in books. Before his current job teaching creative writing at an arts magnet high school, he worked at independent publisher, NewSouth Books.

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