twenty seven angry ice cubes remain in the freezer. the fridge houses lo-mien and baking soda. dust gathers on a naked mattress. all the while my neon girlfriend blows the sweetest kisses.
by David Greenspan of Boca Raton
Tiny Deaths
This will kill me. Counting out each word, every single one more precious than the last I have written. I judge the value of each letter weigh its importance. Which will truly reveal me to you the reader? Which will cut you to the bone? Which will make you rise up out of your seat filled with something other than apathy or judgment? These are my tiny deaths, these tiny edits, cutting some words so other will live.
by Sarah E. Alderman of Lake City
There Is No Christmas In July
“I'm married, so keeping is unnecessary.”
-M. D.
I tucked her in at night with borrowed metaphors. I stayed home alone, trained as a welterweight for the Tom Waits Triathlon; I refused to smoke. When I awoke after the monster unzipped her skin, I moved back in with my futon.
by J. Bradley of Orlando
Carnival Shots
Slideshow of public places
Children play superheroes &
parents play interested
Their candid smiles look
dishonest
Actors become necessary
by Sandra Ketcham of Orlando
Orient Express
There is a mountain range
of freckles on your shoulders;
I want to lose my fingers in them
like a body.
by J. Bradley of Orlando
Names & Other Languages
I got sick in the ER waiting room, and this 70 year old man, Walter Gripp, and I sat on ER bathroom floor talking about our wives. Pearl, his wife, had a heart attack. He kept saying her name like it was the most important word he’d ever learn. Pearl was a nurse in WWII. Pearl loved green apples. Pearl smelled like winter in the Berkshires. My stomach churned: Elizabeth’s name never sounded like that.
by Rebecca Anne Renner of Port Orange
Soundless 1
by Andrew Topel of Clearwater
Lessons
Brandon ship-shaped his racing dingy at the yacht club until it was immaculate, catching the attention of thirty year old Sarah, Samuel’s wife, who was always playing tennis with men other than Samuel. Brandon was seventeen and already ranked nationally. Sarah wanted Brandon. Unnerved, it was only this year that he had first felt friend Wendy’s tiny white tits. Sarah approached, "Teach me to sail! Now!"
by Sander Blome of Bradenton
Fable
The crow uses stones to
raise the liquid to beak’s reach.
She sips the wine,
likes Aesop on Facebook,
to the morning consigns the dread.
by Sara Fitzpatrick Comito of Fort Myers
Black on White on Black 11
by Andrew Topel of Clearwater
Black on White on Black 19
by Andrew Topel of Clearwater, FL
Marooned
There's a quiet dignity in drowning in the adult swim of mixed drinks alone. No bar tab to sacrifice a credit card toward. No jukeboxes playing for the deaf. No doors coughing you out like nicotine jerky after last call. Alone, you are Poseidon. You’ll pick the Spanish galleon of last night from your throat without searching for snipped strings slumping from your wrists, ankles, and jaw.
by J. Bradley of Orlando
Parabolic
Tomorrow is just an empty
Trojan horse; I wonder
if I'm still a city worth burning.
by J. Bradley of Orlando
Trojan horse; I wonder
if I'm still a city worth burning.
by J. Bradley of Orlando
Dedication
For dead dogs
and stolen children,
a special heaven
with rubber balls
and each other.
by Sara Fitzpatrick Comito of Fort Myers
and stolen children,
a special heaven
with rubber balls
and each other.
by Sara Fitzpatrick Comito of Fort Myers
Like a Love Letter from a Cartographer
Your hands were tallow candles:
our shadows were only continents.
Never thought you'd be anything
more than an apprentice.
by Rebecca Anne Renner of Port Orange
our shadows were only continents.
Never thought you'd be anything
more than an apprentice.
by Rebecca Anne Renner of Port Orange
Revolver
Mom called and said that Grandpa was having suicidal thoughts. Not suicidal, just that he’d been talking about death and that he’d pulled out his guns. She was able to get his guns, and luckily she’d showed them to me. My dad was interested in guns too, and he needed someone to be with him when he shot at his gun club’s firing range. I told him about how I saw Grandpa’s revolver and he said, "You want one?"
by Clark Ogier of Jacksonville Beach
Reginald
I saw him wearing a suit made of ham and rolling through the ant piles behind Lejeune High School. He said he liked thinking they might eat through the ham and then eat through him but they never got that far in. Still, he liked the feeling of thinking they might. It was like the feeling of Fat John sitting on his chest except no nutsweat creepin' creepin' toward Reginald's eye nor having to huff that funk of nut.
by Darren Angle of Jacksonville
Shell Game
I cracked open the fortune cookie and read, "There are no pictures on the scorecard." It’s a tough par 3. The green is an island. I hit my hybrid hard, but the ball is headed for the drink. No way it lands dry. I see a splash, but the ball bounces up 25 feet, onto the green. There are no rocks. Then, I see it. Camouflaged in the water is a huge turtle. I’m inches from a birdie! There are no pictures on the scorecard.
by Jason Harris of Weston
