Outrunning By John Drudge

The sign outside buzzes 

Like a drunk preacher 

Spilling light 

Onto the pavement 

Like jazz drums 

Sirens and fryer grease 

Poetry scratched 

Into bus shelter glass 

With a stolen knife 

And everybody bleeding 

Onto the streets 

All nerve and laughter 

Juking through alleys

With empty pockets 

Broken hearts 

And just one more 

Sure scheme 

As the city grinds on

Like an old engine 

Hungry 

Bulletproof 

And as steady

As the 3 AM train 

Outrunning the night

John is a social worker working in the field of disability management and holds degrees in social work, rehabilitation services, and psychology. He is the author of four books of poetry: “March” (2019), “The Seasons of Us” (2019), New Days (2020), and Fragments (2021). His work has appeared widely in numerous literary journals, magazines, and anthologies internationally. John is also a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee and lives in Caledon Ontario, Canada with his wife and two children.

Evil By Shannon O’Connor

I learned about canned

margaritas from the show Evil –

it’s about a team of paranormal investigators

for the Catholic Church.

The main character, Kristen, had climbed Mount 

Everest, graduated with a PhD in Psychology, gave birth to four

daughters, was in her thirties, and found solace 

in margaritas in a can.

I wondered how a person could

accomplish so much by that age, 

but I realized this is a fantasy show,

and it’s not close to reality.

She has the hots for the priest

while they investigate paranormal

activity, possessions, demons,

and Evil.

I tried the margaritas in cans, and they’re

the perfect blend, not like

when I try to mix them myself.

I find when I drink the margaritas, 

I have the desire to find

Evil -

where it’s lurking,

hiding,

so, I can get a dose of 

excitement

in an otherwise boring life.

On Fridays, after I finish work,

I can look for aliens 

depositing toxic mold in Earth houses,

poisoning people

and spreading evil.

I pay attention at my job

to the doctor’s discussions about

psychiatric patients,

and dream of transforming their tragedies

into sci-fi.

I will continue to sip the margaritas and search

for Evil, and a hope for a more interesting

life.

If I can’t live one, at least I can

write about it.

Shannon O'Connor holds an MFA in Writing and Literature from Bennington College. She has been published previously in The Rye Whiskey Review, as well as Wordgathering, Oddball Magazine, 365 Tomorrows and others. She is the chairperson of the Boston Chapter of the National Writers Union. She writes sci-fi based on stories she has heard, but changes them, so people can't recognize themselves. Or at least she hopes.

& a secret back door & By Susan Isla Tepper

Hell’s back entry 

accommodates the surplus

privileged 

who have no intention

of waiting in the long line

 One helluva long line—

it snakes and darts

in and out and around

the entire world

with blood fangs dripping

quite fearless 

They built it in the first place

dug deep

& a secret back door &

the huge front entry

for the common people

The privileged steeped 

in the certainty of knowing 

how to skirt 

hell’s worst chambers

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty year writer and the author of 12 published books of fiction and poetry. Her most recent novel “Hair of a Fallen Angel” was released by Spuyten Duyil, NYC in early October. Check out the Official Video for this book on YouTube link: https://youtu.be/W2HVIc4NrqYriter

Tepper has also written 5 Stage Plays. www.susantepper.com

Failure By Ben Newell

No sooner 

do I submit the thing

than a failure notice

appears in my inbox.

Apparently 

Modern Drunkard Magazine 

no longer reads poetry—

Bukowski said

it’s the small things which

drive a man to the madhouse.

I don’t 

know about the madhouse

but I can definitely vouch

for the 12-pack. 

Ben Newell lives in Mississippi where he works as a freelance writer and bookseller. His poems have been published online and in print, most recently in The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash, and The Scumrag. 

That’s Entertainment By Bob Carlton

whatever is interesting

in these places

is always happening

somewhere else

and i am a settler

not usually a seeker

the private theater

i conjure

through impairment

a trick of inebriation

decades in the making

Bob Carlton lives a life almost totally devoid of outward incident in Leander, Texas.

The Moment the Thread Broke By Heather Kays

In the neon hum of a crowded bar,

ice sweating in glasses, laughter sharp as swords,

my phone blinked a betrayal.

A message—

meant for hands that weren’t mine,

for skin I’d never touched.

Her name, a quiet bomb.

My stomach dropped,

the floor shifting beneath the weight of a stranger in our story.

At home, he wore his guilt

like an ill-fitting coat,

shrugging it off with a laugh and another drink.

I folded my love smaller and smaller,

tucked it into corners,

praying it would still be enough.

I even made room for him,

gave him space to walk away,

but he stomped through the cracks anyway,

leaving his mess all over what we’d built.

Twice,

his absence bruised the bed before his body ever did.

Twice,

he left,

came back smelling of someone else’s perfume—

sour, cloying,

like the whiskey staining his breath.

My hands bruised too,

once.

His grip a cage that held me still

while the words came fast and harsh,

the air turning thin.

Even then,

I stayed.

I rehearsed forgiveness like a prayer,

but my mother’s ghost whispered behind my ribs:

You were not born to be this small.

You do not belong here.

And when I finally left,

it wasn’t with a bang but with silence—

the kind that follows a storm,

where every broken thing lies bare,

and the air smells like freedom and fear.

Heather Kays is a St. Louis-based poet and author passionate about writing since age 7. Her memoir, Pieces of Us, dissects her mother’s struggles with alcoholism and addiction. Her YA novel, Lila’s Letters, focuses on healing through unsent letters. She runs The Alchemists, an online writing group, and enjoys discussing creativity and complex narratives.

My Great Escape By April Ridge

The morning commute 

brings me past 

fields of flowers 

that I'll never know 

the names of. 

The time necessary 

to wander aimlessly, 

lying about in fields 

referencing wildflower manuals 

is off far in the distance.

So I continue 

to drive 

into town.

Watching all of the 

pedestrian signals 

high five themselves 

in the windows of 

the store front shops 

that have not opened yet 

at this early hour.

Thinking 

about 

my great escape.

April Ridge lives in the expansive hopes and dreams of melancholy rescue cats. She thrives on strong coffee, and lives for danger. In the midst of Indiana pines, she follows her heart out to the horizon of reality and hopes never to return to the misty sands of the nightmarish 9 to 5. April aspires to beat seasonal depression with a well-carved stick, and to one day experience the splendor of the Cucumber Magnolia tree in bloom.