One Poem by David Pointer

Leather Angel 
in Decline

This time early
onset Alzheimers
gets a jet kit jump
on his getaway as
Hog boy falls to his
trailer treasure—
from one percenter
to hundred percent
disability no longer
descended from leather
angels heinous crimes
division recalling his
juvenile record opening
up the dead, easy as
a sissy bar back pack
as his father and brother
both noble veterans do
their ungodly duty still

One Poem by Lindsey Dilks

Beer-Thirty AM

I wake up at 4 AM and can't go back to sleep,
so I finish off the beer from last night,
and head for another.

Ants have set up camp in the bathroom
and they've worked their way
in a slow, methodical dance
toward the kitchen,
highlighting the path from my room
to the fridge.

My roommate is passed out in the living room.
He has his own room,
but for some reason,
seems to prefer the couch,
with the TV blaring all night.

I use this as an excuse to slam back a beer
to go back to sleep,
but lately
it seems I'll use anything
as an excuse to have a drink.

So I chug another beer
at 4 AM,
and I hope I can go back to sleep
just long enough
to forget.

One poem by Anne Bradshaw

Lost Pools
That year
they had left it too late
to cut the trees,
so the limbs were strewn
down the track, ungainly, indecent,
and sap began
to ooze like secret blood,
creeping down the trunks,
a thin syrup that stuck
to my hands like black guilt.
The April skies held nothing like the sun
and I only saw the dead of grey reflected in
lost pools, the moment when I knew
what they had done.

2 Poems by Chris Butler


My face
hides from sight
and the light
of everyday.

This insipid skin
pales against
the illumination
of some serene
screensaver scenery,

stricken with
melatonin depletion
from the artificial sun
slowly seeping in.

I choke on the fog of
intoxicating smoke
and carbon dioxide,

locked in an
built around my

with no exit,

out of touch,



The living dead
walk amongst us,

brain dead consumers
marching purposelessly
up and down the endless
aisles of high priced
merchandise on shelves
just out of reach,

moaning hopelessness
for a hunger that will
never be satisfied.