18-45

The Suspect

I frankly admit I am in love
with Perry Mason—
a man's man with his broad-shouldered
suits    a lady defendant's last
hope.
His smoldering eyes lock
onto mine and he reads
truth or else
his those brown orbs burn
it out of me.
He gives no ground    suffers
no fools.
He is hard city night
and the sins committed
under its cover.
He does not judge the divorcee
nor the daughter of a disgraced
man.
He is wise and sharp
the owl perching
until the time
is right.
How he wields courtroom
evidence    and the tongues of liars
against themselves—O
how sweet to see his reflection
in the shine of his black
shoes while my own eyes
glitter with appreciation
behind my hat veil.
Gladly would I squirm
in the witness seat
brave the barrage
of questions and serve
up myself as suspect
just to be held
in the web
of his justice.

by Taunja Thomson

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Taunja Thomson is a child-free feminist vegetarian tattooed atheist cat-lover, hated by many people for each of these things. She is also a co-author of Frame and Mount the Sky, a collaborative chapbook, and Strum and Lull, a finalist in Golden Walkman's 2017 chapbook competition. When she's not writing, she can be found disapproving of children, shirking meat, getting more tattoos, and cuddling with cats. Oh, and she has a Cuthulhu fetish. Come take a gander at her writer's page at facebook.com/TaunjaThomsonWriter

18-44

Dawn of the Bread:
Biting the Hand That Kneads, A Rye Deal

Violence, baguettes, violence:
a cycle.
Baking and battering
bread, kneading and heating.

Cyclical
abuse of
bread, needed for eating;
assaulting.

A fuse
within the flour, an ember,
results in the
monster of yeast.

In your final hour, remember
rising aloof, to make
money for years.
It was life, it was everything.

Rising, a loaf of hate.
It grows now, breathes too.
It's alive, everything
you've cooked.

The dough now leaves you
baked and battered.
You're cooked.
Violence baguettes violence.

by Alberto Sveum

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Alberto Sveum studies English and Philosophy with a minor in Creative Writing at the University of Northern Iowa. He has won awards of excellence for his short fiction and poetry from the UNI Department of Languages and Literatures. He is currently polishing his writing sample for MFA applications.

18-43

E.E. Cummings at Jurassic World

She being brand New
and consequently hungry for meat,
hid amongst the leaves
with Her tree frog lineage,

(having deceitfully marked the
wall to lead Her food inside,
to make sure it was nice
and fresh)

they pulled the lever and entered the door
as She stood watching,
waiting,
ever
so slowly,
as she moved
up
be-
hind
them.

they moved
in sep-
a-
rate
di-
rec-
tions
as She edged
closer,
closer,
until She
could smell the mar-
row in the bones,
Her heart beating faster
as she came upon the first
of Her feast
and its heart
beat
quickened
at the sensation
of Her teeth
as they clamped
down,

snapping into its tiny body,
warm liquid gushing,
meat stuck between Her teeth
and with two bites
and a quick swallow
She finished the first
and moved on to
the second;
the first, just a snack
to wet Her insatiable
appetite,
and
ever
burgeoning
&
excogitating
desires,
laid out
across the
land
in front
of-
Her.

by Angela Spires

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Angela Spires is a writer, teacher, and mother in Reno, NV. Her fiction, flash fiction, and poetry have appeared in multiple journals. She likes to experiment with different writing styles and work in multiple genres. She loves to match elements of past and present that wouldn't normally fit together and see where it takes her.