Three Drawings • Allen Forrest

Deja Vu

Nick and Nora Noir 1

Nick and Nora Noir 2

Three Poems • Holly Day

The Last Day

on the last day, the vampires opened the caskets, crept
out of basements, mausoleums
underground bunkers, to find a world
peopled by the shambling
dying and dead, a radioactive

landscape glowing as red and molten
as the day the Earth first
began to cool. they strutted around
for the first few hours, kings of the world
before becoming sick themselves
from feeding off of
the radioactive dead

the dead blood burning like white lightning
all the way down. soon, even the last vampire
shuddered into dust
long before the rays of the sun pinked
the flaming horizon.


The Night Out

on our knees we
drag the rope
make a circle
to keep the snakes out. stake down the tent
roll out the sleeping bags, set
the camp stove
on low, make
soup. the children’s eyes glow
in the dying
light of the setting sun, cheeks
pink with anticipation
of sleeping under the stars. moonlight
makes the shadows creep
far across the desert and up into
the hills.
I nestle
my head against
my husband’s chest and dream.


The Wife

hand in hand, fingers locked
in a bright show
of marital bliss, smile for
the outside world
to see. no reflection of nightly
rituals of blood
and bone, of skin against metal
the room with a

drain in the floor. her smile is
carefully controlled, quiet
years of hiding
a mouth full of
chipped, dying teeth, lips rouged to hide the hairline
splits in her flesh, the way the

skin puckers
in too many directions
when she tries to speak. he shelters her with
his body in public, banishing questions from
friends and family who ask
why she never calls anymore.

Two Photos • John McCluskey

Fire Escape, 18th St, Chelsea, December, 2015

Empire State Building in fog, December, 2015


John McCluskey lives in Connecticut and 
has published literary fiction, poetry, and 
photography in numerous small literary magazines 
and anthologies. His photography centers around the 
New York City area, though not exclusively. 
"I am drawn to the visual challenge of presenting 
 the ordinary in a slightly more, and hopefully 
successful, extraordinary light."

Blue • Robert Lampros

Wave after wave, countless,
they roll upon our shore,
the sand rolls under, away
and tumbles to the surface.
I feel your eyes in this.

Am I in orbit like the
Earth, like the moon around
this fiery, watery world,
or is it you who orbits me?
I rise to stabilize what

Falls and loosens, comes
apart beneath the waves,
I try to hold us together
all day, and form a place
to last, to roll onward…

Scott Laudati • Leave Me Alone

you’re the new guy so you work the graveyard shift
and the boss has finally gone home,
you can smoke a cigarette in peace
no hiding
no sneaking around the corner.
the garbage trucks clean up the streets.
you watch the last of the drunk girls stumble out,
some go home alone
some fight with their phone.
the city is finally yours.
just a faraway hum of an ambulance
no taxi horns
no one is left to ask anything of you.
and the soft grey clouds
reach over the low tenements
like an exhale of breath
and if you listen closely
you can almost hear god in the silence
whispering the resonance of something you used to know by heart
but can’t quiet remember.

the last day has left
and the new one hasn’t quite come.
it’s a feeling almost like happiness.
you can love anything
under the light of the moon.
it’s another story
come dawn

Two Photos • Mesmerine Adwalla

My Brother Glenn • Dot Nutley

in the manner
of middle aged men.

Insistent he's right on things,
without shame.

always pressing
the issue.

Yet I love him,
the stubborn thing,
the older brother thing.

He saved me once,
from an older man
at the Emerald Bar.

Stood up for me,
took the character down to the floor,
and sneered when the cops took the guy away.

The man had reached for me,
touched my breast, shot a stench
of liquor, his bald head gleaming.

"Never again," Glenn had said
as he drove us the long slow route home.
"Nobody gets in here. Nobody messes with mine."