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Spook on Rye-Fiction by Will Bernardara, Jr.
A Study in Loss and Hunger-Fiction by T. N. Allan
Tepid Strawberries-Fiction by Preston Lang
The Ice Tombs-Fiction by j. brooke
Uncle Harry-Fiction by Michael S. Stewart
Run, Robby, Run, Part 3-Fiction by Kenneth James Crist
Hunting Ghosts-Fiction by J.M.Taylor
SkitzoFreniC-Fiction by Michael Bauman
Candy Man-Fiction by Frank Quinn
A Dog of War-Fiction by Robb T. White
The Retiree's Epiphany-Fiction by Roy Dorman
Reckoning-Fiction by Edward Francisco
Sarcasm's Dream-Fiction by Erin J, Jones
Dishes, Dishes, Dishes-Flash Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
Angels in Vegas-Flash Fiction by Tom Darin Liskey
An Alto for the Choir-Flash Fiction by Hillary Lyon
A Splash of Red-Flash Fiction by Daniel Clausen
A Slight Disposition-Flash Fiction by James Coffey
Together Forever-Flash Fiction by Bill Baber
Talky Tina-Poem by Daniel G. Snethen
Play Dead-Poem by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Boycott This Poem-Poem by Michael Marrotti
Monaco-Poem by John Doyle
He Dubbed Himself General Custer-Poem by David Spicer
Moment of Madness-Poem by Meg Baird
A Beautiful Chaos-Poem by Dr. Mel Waldman
Phantom Voices Floating...Poem by Dr. Mel Waldman
Dirty White Girl-Poem by Ian Mullins
Don't Do It, It Ain't Worth It-Poem by Ian Mullins
Cursed-Poem by John Grey
Regarding the Coming of Man-Poem by John Grey
Threshold-Poem by Kenneth P. Gurney
Word Salad With Ranch-Poem by Kenneth P. Gurney
Turnabout-Poem by Kenneth P. Gurney
Cartoons by Cartwright
Hail, Tiger!
Angel of Manslaughter
The Gazing Ball
Strange Gardens
Gutter Balls
Calpurnia's Window
No Place Like Home
ALAT
Dark Tales from Gent's Pens

generalcuster.jpg
Art by W. Jack Savage 2017

HE DUBBED HIMSELF GENERAL CUSTER

 

by David Spicer

 

 

I once knew an anarchist: droopy-eyed,

weak-chinned, and pony-tailed, he

dubbed himself General Custer, led

a band of fifty sycophants he named

slaves and soul mates, claimed he

killed his parents and buried them

near evergreens and frowned during

his sermons. He forbade photographs

or reporting of his activities but revealed

so much I began keeping a journal.

Every Sunday, in a church between

a river and a lake, with a medical

skeleton in the corner behind him,

he taught a manifesto of misanthropy

to lackeys, followed by a screening

of his favorite film, Wild Strawberries.

Every other movie is trash, he

announced. He wore a perfume,

Immortal, and began donning pink

robes, trained the women to box,

and preferred watercolors over oils.

The guns arrived later, and target

practice commenced. To kill

is an honor humans have embraced

since Cain and Abel, he preached

in his last speech I heard. A puddle

of blood is a holy sacrament, a wild

strawberry. I left a week before the feds

raided his growing compound: General

Custer would have to fight without me.

 

 

 

David Spicer has had poems in Chiron Review, The New Verse News, Yellow Mama, Alcatraz, Gargoyle, Easy Street, Third Wednesday, Reed Magazine, Santa Clara Review, Rat’s Ass Review, Midnight Lane Boutique,  Ploughshares, The American Poetry Review, and elsewhere. The author of Everybody Has a Story and five chapbooks, he’s the former editor of raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books. His latest chapbook is From the Limbs of a Pear Tree, available from Flutter Press.

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2017