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Oklahoma-Fiction by Kenneth James Crist
Claire's Disposable Distraction-Fiction by Roy Dorman
Doing the Trash-Fiction by Sean McElhiney
Kinks-Fiction by Don Stoll
Heads or Tails-Fiction by Ambrose McJunkin
Brother Smith-Fiction by Bruce Harris
Designated Driver-Fiction by M. A. De Neve
Dr. Flytrap's Home for Women-Fiction by Michael D. Davis
Bhopal 2-Fiction by Doug Hawley
There He is Again-Fiction by Thomas Bailey
Genital Pulp-Fiction by Matthew Licht
There is Nothing-Fiction by Rick McQuiston
La Mere Mauvaise-Flash Fiction by Dini Armstrong
One Dark Quiet Night Disturbed-Flash Fiction by Paul Beckman
Prankster-Flash Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
Petal World-Flash Fiction by j. brooke
Reading Bukowski-Poem by Bob Kokan
Preparing the Children for Grandma's Visit-Poem by John Grey
Marble-Sized Raindrops-Poem by Ayaz Daryl Nielsen
Never Any Good at Magic-Poem by J. J. Campbell
Red-Poem by Meg Baird
Spigot-Poem by Otto Burnwell
Wrong-Poem by Ruth Ticktin
In the Backyard-Poem by Holly Day
Harry the Hippie-Poem by David Spicer
Michelangelo's Handshakes-Poem by David Spicer
Flaxen Hair-Poem by John Short
Once Every Four Years-Poem by John Short
A Recap of the Main Points-Poem by Mark Young
Morning Raga-Poem by Mark Young
Corona-Poem by Marc Carver
Pandemic-Poem by Marc Carver
The Secret-Poem by Maec Carver
Consideration-Poem by Richard M. Prazych
The Apartment-Poem by Richard M. Prazych
Holiday_Poem by Richard M. Prazych
Cartoons by Cartwright
Hail, Tiger!
Angel of Manslaughter
Strange Gardens
Gutter Balls
Calpurnia's Window
No Place Like Home
Dark Tales from Gent's Pens



by Otto Burnwell

Momma swallowed up her anger
squatting next to cars,
sucking off the strangers
she found in parking lots
at mini-marts, and liquor stores,
and rowdy biker bars.

When rage would overtake her,
when her devils drove her out
to consume the thing that vexed her,
she flew away to scourge the night,
prowling barefoot in her nightgown,
a rage in need of dousing.

“She’s going for a walk,” said daddy,
or “letting off some steam.”
The Kansas night might do her good
to take a cooling breath of air.
“Get to bed and leave her go,”
drinking deep until she’s sated.
What else was there to say?

She inhaled the Kansas night
through hard and fleshy spigots.
Working open rusty zippers
on the pants of nameless men,
through dirty briefs and pubic hair
to find the prick inside.

A piece of ass to men,
a piece of shit to women,
a piece of work from God’s own hand,
to the pastor at her graveside
that daddy brought along
to pray her off to heaven.


Otto Burnwell is a legal assistant, living in a densely-populated, urban area, where people have lost their fear of saying really strange things in public, especially in places where copious amounts of alcohol, caffeine, or designer cupcakes are involved.

He writes to stay sane, uses a pseudonym to stay employed, and changes enough detail in what he writes to stay welcome at the family’s holiday gatherings.

As an entirely other person, he placed stories in Typishly, Red Fez, The Oddville Press, Spank the Carp, Dual Coast Magazine, and the defunct Digital Americana (not his fault).

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2020