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Gun Buck Before Dawn-Fiction by j. brooke
Grunt-Fiction by Kevin Z. Garvey
A Stab in the Dark-Fiction by Gary Clifton
Run, Robby, Run, Part 2-Fiction by Kenneth James Crist
Surprise Me-Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
Here They Come-Captain Jack, Part 2-Fiction by Michael S. Stewart
Evolution=Crime-Fiction by Calvin Demmer
Bike Killer-Fiction by Doug Hawley
Home on the Range-Fiction by Liz McAdams
Tickets to Heaven-Fiction by Paul Heatley
Free-Flash Fiction by Andrew J. Hogan
I Hate Dave Matthews-Flash Fiction by Carolyn Smuts
The Journey-Flash Fiction by Oliver Lodge
Running-Poem by Meg Baird
in your shoes-Poem by J. J. Campbell
At Midnight-Poem by Sergio Ortiz
Roadkill-Poem by Rachel Doherty
Skinny Dendrix-Poem by Joe Balaz
poet-Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
Shy Dryad-Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
Someone Else's Cat-Poem by John Doyle
Sundays-Poem by John Doyle
Farewell, Bibi-Poem by David Spicer
Rolling Down the Highway...-Poem by David Spicer
No One Ever Asked Winslow This-Poem by Gregory E. Lucas
The Adirondack Guide-Poem by Gregory E. Lucas
Why Back to Gloucester, Boys?-Poem by Gregory E. Lucas
Cartoons by Cartwright
Hail, Tiger!
Angel of Manslaughter
The Gazing Ball
Strange Gardens
Gutter Balls
Calpurnia's Window
No Place Like Home
Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

Art by Bill Zbylut 2017



by David Spicer



Cossack ghosts haunted Bibi.

Thinking about Russian blizzards,

he migrated to Manchester,

where we met in a bus terminal

and, after asking for a fix,

he recounted a story: an orphan

adopted by a Georgian count

and forced to make coffee, empty

chamber pots, and attend to beehives,

he wandered from the palace’s

tower and startled a girl. Anna,

with waist-length brunette hair

slept in a negligee on a beat-up

couch in a meadow. They soon

bathed in the local lake, lovers

clinching in tenderness who praised

the other under the soapbar moon. Bibi

stole a bag of golden coins from a local

miner who scowled in his sleep, and the

couple erased themselves from their mother

country and piled in a boxcar destined

for Europe. The speeding rectangle

seemed to melt without the wind.

He called Anna his bride and planned

a wedding when they found a judge

in London. Upon arrival, Anna died

from a virus, Bibi leaving her for the flies.

He shuffled to Manchester and paved roads.

When he finished, I lost my temper, insulting

him: You’re a scumbag. Farewell, Bibi.



David Spicer has had poems in The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Gargoyle, Yellow Mama, Rat’s Ass Review, Reed Magazine, Slim Volume, The New Verse News, North Dakota Quarterly, Chiron Review, Alcatraz, Easy Street, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., and Prime Number, among others. He has been nominated for a Best of the Net twice and a Pushcart, and is the author of one full-length collection of poems, Everybody Has a Story (St. Luke's Press, 1987), and four chapbooks. He is also the former editor of Raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books.

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2017