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The Dreary Detective: Fiction by E.E. Williams
Deadly Meating: Flash Fiction by Jacob Graysol
Full, From the Grave: Flash Fiction by Craig Kirchner
Leave Me Alone: Flash Fiction by Roy Dorman
Free Key Day: Flash Fiction by William Kitcher
The Night the Monster Came: Flash Fiction by Tim Tobin
Some Things That I Learned in the Army: Poem by Richelle Slota
Double Negatives: Poem by RC Potter
Bird of Night: Poem by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Last Night: poem by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
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His Gallery: Poem by John Grey
Beachwood Canyon: Poem by Damon Hubbs
Stick Horses: Poem by Damon Hubbs
she blew me a kiss: Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
so much in common: Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen
After I Turned 40: Poem by Richard LeDue
The Alarm Clock: Poem by Richard LeDue
Sentimental Love Poems Shown to No One: Poem by Richard LeDue
The Children: Poem by Dawn L. C. Miller
The Deadly Shoes: Poem by Dawn L. C. Miller
The Sands of Inanna: Poem by Dawn L. C. Miller
Angelic: Poem by John Short
Robophobe: Poem by John Short
Worry Beads: Poem by John Short
not even Baudelaire: Poem by Craig Kirchner
Dream Doctor: Poem by Craig Kirchner
Neon Poem: Poem by Craig Kirchner
Another Chapter in Life:Poem by Amirah Al Wassif
The Same Old Story: Poem by Amirah Al Wassif
to bury a curious girl: Poem by Amirah Al Wassif
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Craig Kirchner: Full, From the Grave

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Art by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal © 2024

Full, From the Grave

 

by Craig Kirchner

 

 

The limo, gray leather seats, typical soft ride seemed to be driving itself. A cool, hushed feeling of finality and freedom at about 50 per, willing without manipulating, despite the new rain, the driver barely touching the wheel.

Occasionally rubbing the small container in his right pant pocket, Colton ponders Coppola’s Count crossing the ocean, with his boxes of native soil, the ship on autopilot, sailing itself to the new land, the next red light.

An Altoids tin, what’s that, three Tbsps. maybe? Alyson sitting next to Colton in her full-length Victorian and black lipstick, tells him she saw him spoon the dirt and that she collects clipped nails in a glass case. She keeps it in her room, and frequently contributes, its major characteristic of course, it is dead, cut from life.

Colton’s canister speaks in unfamiliar tones, never feels quite the same each time he touches it. Only an hour old, it has become the charm, his luck piece, the heirloom he’ll never lose, the collection he never had, the never handed-off inheritance that evolves against his leg, and subtly intimates it will eventually grow something if given a chance, perhaps help with his sleep.

 

 

Craig Kirchner is retired and thinks of poetry as hobo art. He loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen.

He has had two poems nominated for the Pushcart, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. He houses 500 books in his office and about 400 poems in a folder on a laptop. These words tend to keep him straight.

After a writing hiatus he was recently published in Poetry Quarterly, Decadent Review, New World Writing, Neologism, The Light Ekphrastic, Unlikely Stories, Wild Violet, Last Stanza, Unbroken, W-Poesis, The Globe Review, Skinny, Your Impossible Voice, Fairfield Scribes, Spillwords, WitCraft, Bombfire, Ink in thirds, Ginosko, Last Leaves, Literary Heist, Blotter, Quail Bell , Ariel Chart, Lit Shark, Gas, Teach-Write, and has work forthcoming in Cape, Scars, Yellow Mama, Rundelania, Flora Fiction, Young Ravens, Loud Coffee Press, Versification, Vine Leaf Press, Edge of Humanity and the Journal of Expressive Writing.

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Ángeles. His artwork has appeared over the years in Medusa’s KitchenNerve Cowboy, The Dope Fiend Daily, and Rogue Wolf PressVenus in Scorpio Poetry E-Zine. 

In Association with Black Petals & Fossil Publications © 2024