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Rules of the Road
by Diane E. Dees
Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?
Jane has the same dream several nights a week. She is abducted by women realtors in gold blazers, stuffed into an SUV, and taken to the "O'Reilly Factor" studio, where she is forced to talk about her abortion. The host says something to her about closure, and--keeping a promise to herself--she screams bloody murder. This causes her to wake up, but when she finally goes back to sleep, she dreams she is in a restaurant, where she sees O'Reilly in one of the booths. He is drinking coffee and eating a huge platter of scrambled eggs. He smiles at her, then the gold-blazered women come after her, only this time, they are led by the Pope, who is wearing a matching gold stole and trying to keep one hand on his hat so it doesn't fall off while he chases Jane.
Road Notes
by W. Scott Olsen
Sometimes the road does not give you a story. More often than not, really, what you get is a scene, a something barely caught by the corner of your eye or the depth of your hearing. You pass a red car, or you hear a voice you'd swear was a best friend from high school, or you see some funky weather, but then you're on to something else. Every tenth of a mile marker, every gas station brings another setting, another cast of characters, another bit of dialogue and intrigue. But late at night, or perhaps even years later, the fast glimpses come back. Not like nightmare, or fantasy. Just the scene itself. And perhaps a hint of something larger-something horrid, or beautiful, or just so damn crazy there ought to be a song.
Listen to Light
by Steven Schroeder
The mark of winter
mind is clarity
not cold, blue not white,
an edge of ice in winter
places even when
there is no snow
Night
by Nick Antosca
a ruined wind tries without strength to muscle us back the way we came,
but we refuse to linger or allow ourselves to be swept off
the sidewalk and into the street.
Room at Strada Lisabona
by Trevor Landers
In your spartan room
an unlikely lover
drains a bottle of Rigas Balsam
Turning
by Steven Schroeder
When the wisest words in the world are spoken
by dumb asses who stand their ground on treacherous
passes guarded by angels, it hardly seems fair
that Lot's wife should pay such a price for turning
to take one last homeward look
What the He Wolf Sees,
by Lee Schultz
I suppose, is how she runs
and how she pads the snow
on trails too soft to hold
When My Daughter Asks
by Lee Schultz
Weather Forecasts depend on reception.
There are only quick moments
of love, taste,
hot or cold,
and sleep.
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Individual works are copyrighted by their authors.