..:: CONTENTS ::..

   Volume VII, Issue I

..:: POETRY ::..

..:: PROSE ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II


Little Tragedies
Howie Good

The fires drove the coyotes down from the hills. I never realized until I read it that the shorter the shells, the more rounds you can load. We should have left before what I took for a tree turned back into a man.

The weather hasn't been cooperating. Fire leaps the barriers. With every breath, we risk an unwanted invitation. You can't remember the name of that principle of physics either. Back then, you were you and someone else. I have a question. It's three months. Why isn't my eye any better?

The county fair opens with the sound of a shell being jacked into the chamber. Don't be afraid to shoot through a wall or door. Remember, the black-faced sheep know all kitchens have large knives.

My face was a searchlight aimed at nothing. Other people's children rang the doorbell and ran. You sensed some unease among the angels. Every beast must do after its kind. A coyote snatched up the little tragedies the wind had scattered.



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