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Baked in the Cake-Fiction by Hilary Lyon
The Bridge is Over-Fiction by Tim Frank
Free to Leave-Fiction by Mickey J. Corrigan
Bruno-Fiction by Edward Francisco
The Sicilian Doctor's Tale-Fiction by Paul Smith
Money Heals All Wounds-Fiction by Chris Fortunato
Flag Day-Fiction by Paul Beckman
Dance Fever Part II, Fiction by Greg Smith
Black Fedoras, Fishnet Stockings and An Old Master-Fiction by Roy Dorman
Lunar Madness-Fiction by J. Brooke
Killing Chauncey-Fiction by Gary Lovisi
Dee's Sentence-Fiction by Steve Prusky
Fire Man Sings the Blues-Fiction by Terry Butler
The Sequel: My First Novel_Fiction by Michael D. Davis
Switchbacks in the Forgotten Corner-Fiction by Walter Giersbach
Carnival Days 1969-Flash Fiction by Robert Kokan
Break-Flash Fiction by Martin Zeigler
Isabelle-Flash Fiction by KJ Hannah Greenberg
All You Young Dudes-Flash Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
Irony-Flash Fiction by Betty Reich
Even the Dead Need Somewhere to Live-Flash Fiction by Jon Park
Boiled Like Lobster (Not Me)-Poem by Bradford Middleton
Black Summer-Poem by Wayne F. Burke
14 Days-Poem by Ann Marie Rhiel
Lives Alone-Poem by Kenneth James Crist
My Palimpsest-Poem by Leon Fedolfi
I Lay with Tigers-Poem by Dr. Mel Waldman
Rushing Slowly Through a Lucid Dream with Roberto Bolano-Poem by Dr. Mel Waldman
Dive-Poem by John Sweet
The Poem as a Bouquet of Broken Glass-Poem by John Sweet
The Projector-Poem by Michael Keshigian
Boston Common-Poem by Michael Keshigian
Along the River-Poem by Holly Day
The Voyager-Poem by Holly Day
All Points from Zermatt-Poem by Henry Bladon
Lost Letters-Poem by Henry Bladon
Black Throat-Poem by John Tustin
Working It All Out-Poem by John Tustin
The Brutality and Terror-Poem by John Tustin
A Nice Poen for a Change-Poem by Marc Carver
The Lover-Poem by Marc Carver
Metier-Poem by Marc Carver
Strangers Keep Friending Me-Poem by David Spicer
True Love-Poem by David Spicer
Rita Hayworth and Me-Poem by David Spicer
Green Lasers-Poem by Daniel G. Snethen
Rodeo Clown-Poem by Daniel G. Snethen
My Nightmare-Poem by Daniel G. Snethen
The Joker-Poem by Daniel G. Snethen
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

Art by A.F.Knott 2020





Cindy Rosmus




          Dear Young Dude,

          Or, as Tennessee Williams might put it, “Young, young, young dude.”

          Happy Birthday! Your post said you were shit-faced, already. A Fireball shot for each year? Bull-shit. That’d be thirty, and you’d be dead. Half that, you’d be in ICU.

          Maybe less. . . .

          Way ahead of you. By thirty years. All you young dudes . . . Like in that Matt the Hoople song. Before your time.

And mine? Stop thinking aching joints, saggy jowls. Think thirty more years of getting fucked, and doing fucked-up things.

          That weirdo Lars, who swung both ways? Who made the fetish porn movies? Pregnant bitches sitting on balloons, smoking? What we did, back then, would make your skin crawl. Your smooth, powdered baby skin.

Thought how cool it’d be to fuck a bi guy. Like a Mick Jagger, or some artsy-fart. Strap-ons, spiked urine cocktails. Some scat freak wanted Lars’ latest smoking bitch to shit on him.

‘Cos I wouldn’t do it, Lars dumped me.

          And Howie, that married guy, from work. Always with a briefcase, like he was in Secret Service. But in that briefcase was a sandwich, blindfold, and handcuffs.

One day at lunch, down the block, we found an old mattress in an alley. As Howie munched on the sandwich (rare roast beef on rye), I sucked him off, blindfolded, hands cuffed behind me. Wearing a pink leather miniskirt, with glass on my knees.

“I fell,” I told Keith, my boss, about my bloody knees, and torn hose. Sneaking off the freight elevator, I walked right into him.

Smirking, ‘cos that elevator was Keith’s and my secret spot.

Like the Talking Heads would say, I had some “Wild, Wild Life.”

Once, while visiting my brother Frankie, in that rural Christian rehab, we both hooked up. Him, with the visiting organist’s son, me with Frankie’s roommate, Ian.

A dreamy-eyed felon, we fucked in their room, while Frankie and the kid went off, somewhere.

Probably the woods. On lots of trees, scriptures were carved. No matter how far you went, no matter how dark and scary the woods felt, another comforting Bible verse showed up: “But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8.”

Yeah, we’re all sinners. But I fucked up anyone who got in my way.

Like that cute Spanish chick Howie hired. Mariah. Who snuck coke on the ladies’ room sink right after Mariah left? So the bitch-in-charge would find it?

Who called Howie’s house late at night, giggling when his wife answered?

Who switched on the gas, in all the burners, in Lars’ kitchen? After his power was shut off? Left him in a drunken stupor, with candles burning.

Before strangling young dudes at their request, I strangled some who fought back.

But years of strength training paid off.

          More than thirty.

          Right now, that Fireball has burned up your gut. Maybe the first shot did. But you trusted me, so you kept downing them. You trusted me at your place.

          After fucking me up. Twice.

          One more: That was powdered bleach, not aspirin, in my cheating husband’s coke. On our first anniversary, we were alone, in a candlelit room.

          Who’d ever believe I flunked chemistry?

Cindy is a Jersey girl who looks like a Mob Wife & talks like Anybody’s from West Side Story. She works out 5-6 days a week, so needs no excuse to drink or do whatever the hell she wants. She’s been published in the usual places, such as Shotgun Honey, Hardboiled, A Twist of Noir, Megazine, Beat to a Pulp, Out of the Gutter, Mysterical-E, Dark Dossier, and Twisted Sister. She is the editor/art director of the ezine, Yellow Mama. She’s a Gemini, a Christian, and an animal rights activist.

A. F. Knott is a self-taught collage artist focused on book layout and book cover design as well networking in conjunction with Hekate Publishing, one of its missions, bringing together artist and writer. Sometimes seen selling in New York City's Union Square Park. Work can be found on 

flickr.com/photos/afknott/ Any exchange of ideas welcome: anthony_knott@hekatepublishing.com

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications 2020