All posts by Dale Wisely

wendy cobourne

Property Management

Mom says it’s her house,
and she marks her territory with wadded tissues.

wendy cobourne is a former journalist who abandoned the formula for creative writing.

David Hanlon

In the Balance

We hold them all,
the things we love,
clasped in our hands,
with fingers
we pretend
aren’t butter.

David Hanlon is a hypnic jerking poet who just wants to read, write & trip the light fantastic.

Eduardo Frajman

I was almost killed, just now

I was almost killed,
just now,
by a man
driving like a maniac,
weaving in and out of lanes,
cutting off, cutting through, everything in his path,
forcing us all to watch out for him, be aware of him, be leery of him,
in his blue-gray Hyundai CR-V,
not the car of a rich man
but of one who means to become rich one day
and wants everyone to know it,
and I sped up to catch him,
meaning to face him
and possibly hiss something nasty
about his mother,
and I did,
when some invisible force up ahead in the future
caused all the lanes to clog, and conglomerate, and compact,
forming a barrier unbreachable
even to the boldest
or the most reckless,
and I drove up to his window,
and took a good look,
and saw a young man
with close-cropped hair and a round face,
but I couldn’t see the color
of his eyes
through the tinted glass,
though they must have been red,
because he was crying.

Eduardo Frajman lives in Evanston, IL.


David Jibson

Ursa Major And Ursa Minor  

There was a first time that someone noticed,
looking into the northern sky,
not one, but two bears
and thought how ferocious
the stars must be.

David Jibson is co-editor of Third Wednesday, a quarterly journal of literary and visual art.

David Jibson

Belfast, Maine 

Scrabbling over the dark rocks,
dodging blasts of cold spray,
I picked up the molt of a horseshoe crab,
a creature little changed
in half a billion years
and wondered at what wisdom
there is in the sea.

David Jibson is co-editor of Third Wednesday, a quarterly journal of literary and visual art.

David Adès

Invisibility Cloak

In bed, I feel her body right there,
the firmness of it imprinting shape into mattress,

her breathing, the flapping wings of her lungs —

so it takes years for me to understand
that she shimmers like a hologram,

a love I can pass my hands through,

and what I think I know of her
is not knowledge at all,

not even approximation or semblance,

that for all the words, the language,
the mingling of bodies,

she is a ghost, a wraith

I move towards with all my yearning,
a mirage in the desert,

a watering hole from which I will never drink.

David Adès is an Australian poet whose most recent book Afloat in Light is available through UWA Publishing at

Janet Madden

You are the well-worn shoes I slide into every morning, the familiar comfort that balances my widespread toes, the foundation of the steps that take me away from you.

Janet Madden writes, hand quilts and raises chickens and vegetables in Santa Monica, CA.


Asa Johnson

Sleep Apnea

Awoken, interrupted, the
broken body struggles to know
disparate moments, to forget
each nightly time of death the heart
with its cascading metronome beats
into a fevered marathon, twitching
coded messages against the ribs.

Asa Johnson is a graduate English student living in Texas whose poems have appeared in Hothouse, Analecta, and Impossible Archetype.