Weekend Morning. By Alyssa Trivett

I had two coats on my car

as I poured coffee down my

throat after filling the tank.

We stay more local now,

with everything, 

uncertainty is the word. 

So many unknowns in this soppy crossword 

puzzle world as we keep

our heads above water, 

I hope.

I'm much more introverted nowadays and the weather would like for me

to rattle and roll 

back to sleep

but I pony up pocket change

and anything else I have left these days to jam on and away and 

think of better days.

Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she chirps down coffee while scrawling lines. Her work has appeared in many places, but most recently at Ex Ex Lit, and Duane's PoeTree site.

Received by Susan Tepper

You have received darkness

in bags and in pieces

the way people picked up

coal near train tracks

during The Great Depression

running home to light the stove

cook an egg shivering wet

the cold as night

splattering the floor

Its fragments of shell

for birds

Susan Tepper is the author of nine published books of fiction and poetry. Her most recent is a chapbook of poetry titled CONFESS published this month by Cervena Barva Press.  Last June her road novel “What Drives Men” was published by Wilderness House Press, and shortlisted at American Book Fest Best Book Awards. Other honors and awards include eighteen Pushcart Nominations, a Pulitzer Prize Nomination for the novel “What May Have Been” (Cervena Barva Press, and currently being adapted for the stage), NPR’s Selected Shorts Series, Second Place Winner in Story/South Million Writers Award, Best Story of 17 Years of Vestal Review, Shortlisted 7th in the Zoetrope Novel Contest (2003), Best of the Net and more. Tepper is a native New Yorker.

Whole Lot Less of Rosie. By John Doyle

They say water and a priest
was all she asked for
that night she died,

it’s a lie - I know
she died alone,
except for that horse she rode saddle-less across

a bolt of lightning,
the hounds of Hell
ever closer - Rosie screaming.

I look in the bookmakers
to make sure she's dead,
no-one’s picking drunks’ pockets,

no-one’s cursing crippled children
laughing underneath the olive tree.
Yes, she's dead -

the syllables of mourning, unneeded -
a perfect walnut, picket-fence
and cider kind of peace sweetens our town

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch. 

14th off Sixth in ‘73. By Susan Tepper

This is the hard place

of tepid light, smoking

men seated shoulder to 

shoulder— scarce inches 

apart hunched over 

it’s lunchtime—

Overcoats seen better days.

Those hats some type of 

camouflage?  What am I 

in this dump off Sixth—

Barkeep whispers Last place 

expect to find a pretty girl

Making time— where 

the bar makes its sudden curve 

and my stool wobbles uneven

Susan Tepper is the author of nine published books of fiction and poetry. Her most recent is a chapbook of poetry titled CONFESS published this month by Cervena Barva Press.  Last June her road novel “What Drives Men” was published by Wilderness House Press, and shortlisted at American Book Fest Best Book Awards. Other honors and awards include eighteen Pushcart Nominations, a Pulitzer Prize Nomination for the novel “What May Have Been” (Cervena Barva Press, and currently being adapted for the stage), NPR’s Selected Shorts Series, Second Place Winner in Story/South Million Writers Award, Best Story of 17 Years of Vestal Review, Shortlisted 7th in the Zoetrope Novel Contest (2003), Best of the Net and more. Tepper is a native New Yorker.

Striving By Alex Z. Salinas

Larry Rios—murderer and unrenowned Chicano poet—strives to pen the realest poem of all time. How to accomplish that? First, accept that 70% of life is false advertising. Second, appreciate the blood-soaked earth. Third, limit cheesy, sentimental adverbs. I mean, really limit them. Last, write opposite of what you’d tell your mother. Easy. Then suddenly Larry is sidetracked at work. He commiserates with colleagues. He reluctantly buys a fish. He thinks about his (s)ex. He chews on last words of his favorite novels. He writes frog poems to generate better ideas. He takes hot showers, hopes the fog inside clears.

Alex Z. Salinas lives in San Antonio, Texas. He is the author of WARBLES, a full-length poetry collection from Hekate Publishing (2019). His short fiction, poetry and op-eds have appeared in various print and digital publications, including in The Crossroads Magazine, and he serves as poetry editor for the San Antonio Review. He holds an M.A. in English Literature and Language from St. Mary’s University.

Stephen. By John Doyle

Stephen’s everyone's friend.

Stephen looks like Rob Halford, but it's ironic -

his sociology friends laugh; Stephen - eating lentils

so everyone knows how right-on he is.

Stephen dated Amanda - it didn't last, but no-one's bitter -

Stephen’s everyone's friend. He told me call up tonight -

I even brought blank cassettes 

so he could rip some Devendra Banhart for me.

Who the fuck is Devendra Banhart? I think.

The dead weight fog of cannabis 

and pseudo-intellectual chatter warns me

from his door. I leave his illusion behind me

after knock number three; I go home and listen to Cedar Walton

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch. 

Note To A Fartist Fraud. By John Patrick Robbins

                      

You sent me your books in some childish attempt to impress me .

Like some jilted lover who shows up at the bar with some transitional boyfriend in hand.

I wasn't impressed then by your words and I am far from impressed now.

Your dummy press run by some assholes in need of cash from another press are the one's I hold my sympathy for.

I hold no respect for neither of you .

 But I was grateful for one thing.

I had just run out of toilet paper and now had something to wipe my ass with.

Although the quality truly was below my standards. 

Nice try jackass !, better luck in your next life .

John Patrick Robbins : Is the editor in chief of the Rye Whiskey Review , Under The Bleachers , Drinkers Only and The Black Shamrock Magazine.

His work has been published by. Ariel Chart , Punk Noir Magazine , Piker Press, Blognostics , Red Fez , The San Antonio Review , The San Pedro River Review, The Blue Nib.

He is also the author of Sex, Drugs & Poetry By Whiskey City Press And Once Upon A Nervous Breakdown from Soma Publishing.

His work is always unfiltered .