Vol. 6: The Last One

War Stories | By Eli Colbert
Her pearl earrings are the only holy thing in the driveway.
Add decadence to the new wounds he said, before bolting
Onto the interstate. The last warning is a vase inside of a trunk,
In a flatbed truck, in a storage locker in Fresno. He can talk
About man’s pity for hours, so you’d better stop him when he
Gets to the part about Bathsheba, and Kentucky, and a brother
Who fell from a bell tower. The bell is still there, but not the lake,
Or silo. He says he doesn’t trust the sounds of the new microwave
And he curses the dogs, despite the dogs. He is still hoarse when they start jumping around in the sheets. The light makes His face look purple. The light blurs to no light. He is in exile from his body, which has no conviction so he will use the same scummy glass without washing it. Her pearl earrings are like a curtain for his soliloquy. The unobservable distance is a paradise.

Clay | By Jim Hollingworth
I’ve got penguins in my chest.
Everything evolves to be uncomfortably cold,
So there’s magic in stove burns.
Some people like to miss a stair step on the way to work
Awake! Less so when they’re falling asleep, though.
When I was four I stuck my head between the banisters.
The whole neighborhood came out with butter,
And I got to meet a fireman.
I just missed the car crash,
I heard it but glass was already on the lawn.
Warm, warm
Sun hills and beach sand burials and dryer underwear
Getting cozy into bed with someone, cushions ­
but there are no blankets in my head
only spark plugs and clay
if I have to take one more concrete step I might fall right through
if I have to repeat it I might say forget it instead
if I have to hear it again I might put a mechanical pencil through my ear
and have it slowly come out the other side
make you watch
that’s not nice
that’s not nice
blankets, concrete and tuesdays
the engine isn’t here so what is the point of these spark plugs?