He’s a smelly male reeking of danger
who wrenched wings from vexing flies
and velocitied ammo at living things.
He waits and wants to see Sylvester
gut that little yellow turd,
measures beauty in desires,
and marks his.
He would and could
be good at godding.

J.S. MacLean lives in Calgary Alberta. Hs work has appeared in such places as ditch, Why Vandalism? battered Suitcase, Feathertale, Soundzine, and various others. In his spare time he wears various hats on the staff of a new online journal, The Triggerfish Critical Review.

  Chase sashay from Chardonnay
and quit the sprit from Aquavit;
and then, we’ll just self-medicate
on half a champagne split.

Benumbed, we’ll stare at coasters
since we’re both profoundly lit,
like a pair of roiled roasters
skewered tightly to a spit.

Beguiling is the way you bluff
an effervescent style;
in truth, we know your sterner stuff
belies a youthful smile.

And while your age condones your rage
to land a younger barge,
I wonder: do you think it sage
with lovelies still at large?

So, back to cardboard coasters
to redress what doesn’t fit
as we sit like white bread toasters,
shorting out the wit to quit.


Russell Bittner hails from Brooklyn, New York.

Before the snow, the fear
of being homebound
with only my thoughts,
my brain overfilled with time
like too much fodder in the shock.

After the snow, the fear
is realized, the mind stutters,
eyes scour the same walls
for a change in landscape
when out of the tundra
comes the sound of nothing,
the distant buzz
behind the bunker of winter,

the pang of pins dropping
like long thoughts falling
into snowy stillness--

Phil Lane's poetry has appeared in various small magazines and online over the years.  He teaches English and lives in Northern New Jersey.

I will kiss you until your back
knots, baste your neck
with cigarette smoke.

I will claim your hair
like a ticket, clutch
the steering wheel
of your panties.

You will gouge shallow
ditches, rust my tongue.


J. Bradley is the author of Dodging Traffic (Ampersand Books, 2009). 
He once interviewed Emmanuel Lewis with a Spider-Man PEZ Dispenser. 
J. Bradley lives at iheartfailure.net.

Lad, this stuff
has got to stop,
this standing
in the washroom wiping
till the tissue
comes back free
of any fleck of what some
forty wipes ago
it first went after.
Lad, the stuff is there;
it’s always there.
Forget it now.
Rewrite your poems.

Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, MO. He is the son of Irish immigrants, which explains why there is no "d" at the end of his first name. Pronounced with a long "o," "Donal" is Gaelic for Daniel. It was his father's choice. This name caused his son considerable consternation in grammar school as he had to explain to nuns on the first day of class why he could not spell his own name.

Okay, the red experiment
was vastly unsuccessful,
so it's back to blonde on blonde,
dreaming of alchemy,
some old school metallurgy
and forging fresh stuff,
listening to Bob Dylan
on the hi-fi stereo.
And maybe,
you're not supposed to remember
anybody's promises,
I don't know where I belong anymore,
stranded somewhere between
the anxious wreckage
of wonder and belief,
where a singular place of waiting
with hesitant openness
for some last wild frontier
is enough of a commitment,
for now...
but oh, how lovely is it
to be able to go in the door
and then,
back out again -
and it just could be,
I'll pull my soft old crinolines
out of the closet,
and give em a little shake!

***

Sissy's bio:

Ragtop...

Over my shoulder
unfurls a gold satin sail -
sudden winter gust.

Our daddy had red hair -
do redhead's have more fun?
guess I'll find out...
and the secret to a perfect pincurl
is not putting too much hair in the roll
so it is one big curl blob,
rather numerous smallish rolls,
two pins to form an X
but with the pins somewhat hidden in the curl,
so there are no dents
in the final brush out,
and of course don't forget
the Lottabody setting lotion
then top with a scarf to keep it all together.
My grandma says there were hundreds of sets
for different styles, so it wasn't just a matter
of pin curling the hair all over.
There was parting and directional decisions
one row curled left, the next rolled right
for a vintage slicked crown look
or some loose epochal waves,
technique as seen by Cybill Shepard's efforts 
in "The Last Picture Show"
before, and after -
this is some serious business...

* * *

Sissy's bio:

Ragtop...

Over my shoulder
unfurls a gold satin sail -
sudden winter gust.