in Buy Print Editions, Issue 100 (6 November 2011), Poems, Prose, Word Art, Writers from China, Writers from Colorado, Writers from Illinois, Writers from Italy, Writers from Maryland, Writers from Massachusetts, Writers from New Jersey, Writers from New Mexico, Writers from New York, Writers from Pennsylvania, Writers from Spain, Writers from Wales | Permalink
A pipe has burst at the herbarium. Jude pries the dead plants off their wet mounts and lays them on new sheets. He spreads the frills, bundles the roots, and sends them to the presses. Before closing time, he and Gemma have lazy sex in a storeroom in front of a jar of preserved bananas.
The technician stops here. A good climax makes for the best endings. He pulls the USB cable off and wheels Jude’s body out.
by Crystal Koo of Hong Kong
Squishy fish. Hair clumps. A sudden eruption of bone extensions. Word droplets fizzle two lips, blistered tongue. New bone horizons burst the skin of thighs and waist. Possessed bits of glass litter the tiles, broken glitter in the sink. Slow fur from the distorted vortex is a cracked mirror. Dog teeth from raw gums. The tonal click of a grinding drill. Thick blackness, a sea of bile, the sullen void, identity.
by Jamie Grefe of Beijing
They had lost his papers and nobody listened and nobody cared. It was wrong. He walked back to the bus stop and sat down by an old man and rolled a smoke. He stared out at the shopping bags and brand new cars passing by.
"It's not right," he snarled, "It's all wrong."
The old man smiled.
"If you whisper, nobody will hear. If you shout, nobody will listen. It's best to keep quiet and watch your breath instead."
by J. H. Martin of Tongzi