the complete first page, as teaser:

They moved in unison. Like some sort of pack of silent wolves. Their terrain was made of asphalt instead of rolling hills. It didn’t matter much. They were just as vicious. Fully equipped with their light cigarettes and iPods, they all walked with a strange confidence. Despite stum-bling over one another, they looked as though they knew just where they were going. Their final destination had been given to them. Their steps rehearsed. The path trekked before.

People moved aside as they approached. Splitting urban parking lots had never been easier and cooler. Everyone else in town was dressed in various colors. Bright orange mixed with hues of yellow and baby blue. But this group wore nothing but black. Of course there were different shades depending on how often they washed.

…

by
Patrick Trotti

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

“Admit to a woman that you’re a virgin.”

Buck Williams had spent the day buying a car. His jacket squeaked when he moved. Rayford understood how people could be charmed.

“I’d love to be in love.” The first of his three messages. “But you have to realise, this is not how I see the core group. Usually my tie is straighter, my shirt fully tucked in, my suit coat buttoned. Sometimes I forget what language I’m in. Should you be struck by a car or caught in a fire, it may be the most merciful way you can die.”

*

The seventh seal is so awesome. A noisy pizza place. All the prayer support you can get. Lightning may have triggered some spontaneous interaction.

…

by
Nicholas Liu

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

Flashy words make the world turn but they don’t turn it right.
—Shihan

Flashy words make the world turn but it don’t turn right. Turning and turning, you make me turn and turn again. And I am tumbleweed. I am dandelion. I am a bit of fluff you convert into a magic wheel. I turn and turn again. Turn and turn again.

And each time the wheel goes round that is a prayer. Each revolution akin to the movement of the sun. So you pray for light. I pray for warmth. But in your arms.

So little is left, the wheel-man turns the wheel. The revolutions to the sun, always towards the sun. Black holes and sunspots, people don’t see these things,

…

by
Ainne Frances dela Cruz

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

It has been more than a lifetime of oceans.

Marie and Derrick shared Freud's silk-stockings-and-napa-leather relationship with old coinage. The way he gave poet Bruno Goetz two hundred kronen like a patron of the arts, in exchange for a personal narrative. The narrative was filled to the brim. It was peppered with anecdotes about his flirtations with seafarers.

Marie had only ever touched water in a dipping pool. Never been near the ocean or seen the beach. She attempted the retreat along with Derrick and myself, our self-imposed discipline of keeping quiet for extended periods of time increasingly painful, the vipassana meditation reducing every flight of imaginative fancy into ether. Started

…

by
Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

The Middle Way between eros and thanatos. The retreat, both spiritual and literary, demanded that we alternate between silence and reading aloud. Into a wall. Alongside an artificial harmonic. All the time voraciously processing and triangulating our thoughts, until we permitted these small embouchure windows, when we finally got to write down everything we felt or did not feel.

Voluble tracts, these. And in ink, our laptops locked away, heat-warping in the trunk of our minivan. In another life, someone will quote me as saying: “The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.”

Marie’s dream was more pragmatic, like Rorty on a ladder looking down to check how far the ground had

…

by
Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

JOE IS A PROSPECTOR DURING THE CALIFORNIA GOLD RUSH. I HAVEN'T FOUND ANY GOLD YET. HOW WILL I PAY THE RENT? YIPES! IT'S THE LANDLORD! YOU HAVE TWO DAYS TO PAY THE RENT. GREAT! I'LL TAKE THE FOURTH OF JULY AND CHRIST-MAS. FORTUNE: DON'T JUMP TO CONCLUSION - YOU MAY FALL FLAT ON YOUR FACE.

WHAT A GAME! YIPPEE! JOE, I THINK I LOST MY VOICE! YOU DIDN'T LOSE IT - IT'S IN MY RIGHT EAR! FORTUNE: APEING OTHERS IS MONKEY BUSINESS.

HI ZENA. NICE BLOUSE! BUT WHY ALL THE NUMBERS? DO ME A FAVOR, JOE - AND SCRATCH NUMBER TWENTY-SEVEN, WOULD YOU? FORTUNE: NOBODY DOES IT BETTER THAN YOU.

…

by Steve Giasson

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

The swing went one way into the daytime, the other way into the night. She was on the edge of twilight, on the edge of the forest, and the meadow, on the equinox, on the edge of her land, and the land of the questionables.

The daylight of course was forward, and she smiled, thought of all the possibilities her life held, at such a tender age.

The darkness was backwards, and she didn't smile at all, but felt there never should be night. That we should dream all day long, have no need for night.

So, each swing forward, she quickly made some progress with a dream. She

…

by Tantra Bensko

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

The Taurus bounces twice sideways in the ditch exactly like a twice sideways car bouncing in a ditch. Red paint. Red paint. Inertia always wins. Pull over. Over. I stop my wheels, stop easily. Begin. Negative 13 Celsius. Their car is on its side. Sideways, I run to the car. The ditch is under, around the car, under my feet. She opens the driver door, upwards. Pulls herself out. It's her. She's her. She's sideways. A broken mirror. He's there too. He says, "Do you have any drywall? Is there a McDonald's nearby?" She begins to cry tears into the ditch. He pulls himself up and out. The car remains sideways. His elbow is also sideways. He holds it out in front of him. A robin lands on his forearm and pecks at the inside of his elbow. "Have you ever seen a guitar?" She asks. Her face is inertia. My wheels have stopped still or again. The ditch becomes salt. He looks sideways at his

…

by kevin mcpherson eckhoff

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

It wasn't the first time. In the dark downstairs, where I slept on the living room couch when visiting, I had heard that thud before. I had heard the thunder of his curse—Fuck!—and her exasperated lament, Mack!, Oh, Mack! Once again the transfer from wheelchair to bed had been made—Goddammit!—too difficult from drinking. I'd hear movement in the upstairs bedroom for quite a while, some lighter thuds followed by muffled, unintelligible dialogue, and, finally, there'd be silence.

Though the elevator had been built for Mack two decades earlier, she'd gotten into the habit of using it for herself. In the morning, I'd hear it

…

by Gerard Grealish

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

It's Monday, and Bob Francis is mowing his lawn before the sun sets. He just mowed it two days ago. Late Saturday morning, while washing a week's worth of dishes, I was looking out the window above my kitchen sink, and there he was. I remember thinking, Didn't he just mow his lawn two days ago? as I worked hard at scraping off some encrusted egg from the plate in my water-wrinkled hands.

Someday, I've been told, I'll have to get a dishwasher, but I kind of like doing the dishes by hand. Helps me meditate. Like Saturday. I was meditating on Bob's grass, how each blade must lean ever so lightly, so trimly against another. Perfect.

…

by Gerard Grealish

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

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Money was low. My friend Mike was driving his motor scooter halfway to New York City before he would take the cutoff toward his home, somewhat south in New Jersey. He had room for a passenger, and, hell, the next day was St. Paddy's Day. Time to take a break from classes. Time to celebrate. I had a thumb. I could stick it out. Which is what I did once he dropped me off where the road forked.

I was getting cold by the time the car stopped. Its rear red lights radiated through clouds of exhaust. My breath made clouds, too, as I ran to the rear door and, opening it, said Thanks. From the backseat, I saw only the hair on the backs of their heads-the male driver's

…

by Gerard Grealish

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

The other day I was at my favorite lunch counter, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper, when an older man sat down on the stool to my left. He was wearing a stripe of green paint down the middle of his face, from the hairline down to the tip of his nose. He must have noticed the quizzical lok on my face because he grinned and volunteered: "It's t' keep the pie-annas off." (He pronounced it just like that: "pie-annas.")

"Oh?" I responded, because I believe it is usually prudent to be noncommittal with individuals of this sort.

"Yep," he continued. "Gonna be a hail of pie-annas any day now. Be

…

by Dave Reinders

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

…

by Jukka-Pekka Kervinen

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

He is watching him watch his wife with eyes he cannot see behind which lie dangerous thoughts he watches him watch with eyes fixed on bare foot, lean and delicately formed, long toes pressed into carpet, smooth round heel below slender ankle disclosing the structure of articulated bones, joint bending to let outer edge of foot caress broadloom, showing a sole tinged reddish-orange at heel and ball, pale white of arch crinkling as her foot curls in and shifts to press bent toes into plush nap he sits a bit away on watching while eyes he doesn't know are watching him watch him thinking dangerous thoughts he imagines being acted on, acting on impulse arising from bare foot on plush nap he sits on in stockinged feet that are wide and flat, stubby toes in wool socks, smooth flesh of heel below plump ankle obscuring the structure of articulated

…

by Paul Dutton

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

She winds her daughter’s hair in ringlets, tying her hair on top with a ribbon frayed by lifelong use, a ringlet wound around her finger, mind on ribbons in hair she has in ringlets, hands at her sides between legs tensed on tip-toe, knees bent, head held by hands holding frayed ribbon tied in hair on top of head around which ringlets tumble to silk-fabricked shoulder tensed and turning, eyes on her image in the mirror on the wardrobe against the wall behind her, where her hair’s hung down in ringlets, a ribbon frayed with lifelong use tied atop her head bent down to hair hung between tensed legs bent on fabricked shoulder lips have tugged the cloth back from to kiss the flesh the hair hangs down from finger winding it in ringlet coiling serpentine on finger tugging cloth back from shoulder to kiss the mirror-image of her head bent

…

by Paul Dutton

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

Parables of Convenience
for Beth Bromberg

1.

A man wants to rob a convenience store. He charges in, armed with a knife. He orders the clerk to leave and wait outside. The clerk runs out of the store, calls the police, and never comes back. The police surround the store. They see through the window that the man is eating a chicken.

2.

A man wants to rob his local convenience store. He walks in and chats with the clerk. They both know each other. At a certain point, the man pulls on a black balaclava and holds a gun

…

by Gary Barwin

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

The Limitless Skies Above Chairs

The chair nuzzles against trees. It remains still, invisible to its predators. Looking is a contract between hunter and hunted. Also, hiding. Look at a chair. It looks back, waiting for what’s next.

A forest of chairs, a silent choir, the inverse of trees yet becoming trees. The imagination of chairs: moist pools of thought or sense. Inside the chair, a red city, a briefcase, an underground of blood.

There was a house where chairs were on the wall. The carpets were chairs. We ate chair. When did these chairs come into our home, the forest the size of humans, not chairs.

…

by Gary Barwin

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

Fred came down to breakfast one morning and discovered a hole in his favorite box of cereal. Granola, dried cranberries, and mouse turds were spread across the red, white and blue shelf liner Beth had carefully installed when they took possession of the house two years ago.

It was an enraging sight and one that Fred dimly remembered from his adolescence when his father Fred Sr had experienced a similar assault. In fact, Fred’s misfortune occurred in the same kitchen. The Fred we are talking about moved into Fred Sr’s house a few years after a herd of donkeys had driven Fred Sr from the house. Now as our Fred surveyed the mess left by the rogue rodents, Fred remembered his vow never to make his father’s mistake: incomplete mouse eradication.

…

by Martha Deed

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

A dream is the life of the mind laid bare.

He stares at his feet in silent meditation. They stick out at the bottom of the bed. He lifts his head. His eyes roam over a landscape of sheets and bedcovers, the hills and valleys of two bodies. He goes to work, first on Gwen who, still nearly sleeping, whispers and moans. Less than an hour later he is standing in his boardroom, at the height of his powers, formidable.

He has lunch alone every day at his desk. His personal assistant brings it to him with a smile. She is young and beautiful. Better than that, she is intelligent and competent. Better than that, she never touches him. Today he is eating fish. Tomorrow will be chicken.

…

by Michael Aro

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

Chapter I

Faded, but the price sticker still clung to the antique brooch.

Its presence replicated something floating as a splinter within the murk of a river, or her mind.

Somewhere, burgundy brooded.

Chapter II

She knows what can drain gold from metal: Touch.

At the local library, an artist is exhibiting ancient handkerchiefs embossed with black-and-white photographs. Shelves of skulls fade behind matters of aesthetics.

…

by Eileen R. Tabios

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

“A scale, C flat minor key,” a lanky dude called out as I boarded the elevator, my fingers trembling up the fret board of my electric P bass. My hand stopped mid-scale and my blue eyes surveyed him beneath surprised eyebrows. We were in the practice studio building at Berklee College of Music in Boston, Massachusetts for a week-long music camp.

“How did you know that, that quickly?” I inquired.

“I grew up in Kansas and my bedroom was under a tin roof. When I was six I noticed the raindrops made different pitches and they reverberated in my head. It almost drove me crazy until I started naming and ordering them. As you can imagine, I didn’t sleep much as a kid,” he paused and extended his left hand to me,

…

by Rachael Goetzke

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.

the complete first page, as teaser:

Paul was the itchiest wool sweater available in his wardrobe, brown, bushy fibers bunching around the neck portal & rubbing chaffing tickling, in an all-day-long distraction from a garment that wouldn’t conform to a level of comfort, just the continued awareness that this sheered sheep was woven into a document wrapping round arms & neck holding heat in prickly strings, on the collar:

overgrown brambles & pricker bushes along a suburban creek, a swatch of space to hold the water back from flooding basements or roadways, but at the heavier rain falls this protective patch could do little to deter the dribbling creek from turning to spilling river, sewer spit up through the sump pumps, brown muck driving through the street, citizens watching from livingroom windows as

…

by Chris Tiefel

the rest lives in a tiny 8-page booklet. $2, + S&H.