Black Petals Issue #106 Winter, 2023

BP Editorial Page
BP Artists and Illustrators
BP Guidelines
Mars-News, Views and Commentary
The Thing in the Yard: Fiction by Vincent Vurchio
A Forest Green: Fiction by Logan Williams
Clown Safe: Fiction by Taylor Hagood
Home Delivery: Fiction by Jon Adcock
Judith and Bobby Save the World: Fiction by Stephen Tillman
Many Wee Undead: Fiction by Marco Etheridge
Meat Pie: Fiction by Anna Koltes
Mexican Coffee and Burgers: Fiction by Fred Zackel
Leaving: Fiction by Roy Dorman
The Ghost of the Perfect Hotdog: Fiction by Mark Miller
The Illustrated Woman: Fiction by Jen Myers
Thrice in One Sitting: Fiction by Justin Alcala
In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning: Fiction by Gene Lass
AI Self-Mortification: Flash Fiction by Christopher Henckel
Correct Mistake: Flash Fiction by Eric Burbridge
A Moment of Inertia: Flash Fiction by Sean MacKendrick
Get Your Kicks on Route 666: Flash Fiction by M. L. Fortier
Let's Do Lunch: Flash Fiction by Hillary Lyon
"Three Wishes": Flash Fiction by Ronin Fox
Woodsman's Revenge: Flash Fiction by Jada Maze
To a Crow: Poem by Michael Keshigian
Estranged: Poem by Michael Keshigian
At the Terminal: Poem by Michael Keshigian
Angler's Nightmare: Poem by Michael Keshigian
Last Thirteen Steps: Poem by Kenneth Vincent Walker
Murderous Words: Poem by Kenneth Vincent Walker
My Childhood Snapshot: Poem by Kenneth Vincent Walker
With Vampires About: Poem by Kenneth Vincent Walker
The Zombies are Loose: Poem by C. Renee Kiser
Lil' Toe Dipper: Poem by C. Renee Kiser
Scattered Pieces: Poem by Andrew Graber

Casey Kiser: The Zombies are Loose

The Zombies are Loose


C. Renee Kiser


                   Just woke up from a nightmare

                   feeling nostalgic

I miss the old bars, the shit-talking;

a guy ranting that he could beat me


at a game of pool, or anything

at all,

a gal trying to get under my skin

by giving me the stink eye while


or by tossing me her sympathetic


Barflys used to rumble with grit

and now we have

Tip-toe Joe


You are fading from my memory now

I’ve commanded this, yes

And that very day, I ripped up and deleted

any trail of you that could lead me back,

because that version of you didn’t really

exist and I knew it





I’m impulsive- I love it;

You love it, Fuck You,

You know you love it


But I’m reminded of you, those

nightmare nights and I wish

I had kept just one picture

because I miss playing darts

I can’t even refresh my memory

as you’re a ghost online

and don’t have any social media,

as yourself –

King of the cowards


Cowards have no place here

anymore, show yourself!

Show up! For fuck’s sake,


the zombies are loose.

C. Renee Kiser's poetry is quirky and armed with bold confessional dynamite. Her humor is satisfyingly dark, confrontational, often abrupt, and always unsettling.