You Were My Sausage, Biscuits and Gravy By Kevin M. Hibshman

You were like my favorite flea market find.

A faded treasure meant for my hands.

You were the last slice of cold pizza for breakfast at 5:AM in the morning following a night of riotous drinking that may have severed several friendships.

You rescued me like a small child separated from Mom, lost in the supermarket, crying my eyes out while being stared at by laughing, unhelpful customers.

You were like the time I got twelve packs of cigarettes out of the vending machine after only paying for one.

My friend Dawn had a bag in her car I stashed them all in until we got home.

You were New Years Eve 1999 when the bartender gave me my own bottle of good champagne, making the rest of the inebriated crowd jealous and angry.

Remember when I'd been taking your muscle relaxants instead of my blood pressure pills and made it all the way to work with two left shoes on?

I kept wondering why I couldn't seem to wake up until mid-afternoon.

Those were the days!

Kevin M. Hibshman has had poems published in many journals and magazines world wide.In addition, he has edited his poetry zine, Fearless, since 1990 and is the author of sixteen chapbooks including Love Sex Death Dreams (Green Bean Press, 2000) and Incessant Shining (Alternating Current, 2011).

Cease To Destroy from Whiskey City Press.

His current book is Lost Within The Garden Of Heathens also from Whiskey City Press and currently available through Amazon.

https://a.co/d/aIBcNvy

TANG ZERO By Philip Ash

Trim astronauts spin around

the moon, but I won’t take 

weight-loss drugs. I am

the last jolly fat man. After 

Santa Claus’ assassination

for shaking like a jelly bowl. 

Dark side of Luna would be 

a good place to stash Krispy 

Kreme doughnuts. Following 

Thin Police force-feeding 

people non-sat fat synthetic 

meats to prevent cancer &

amorous reactions. Krishnas

know garlic & onions are 

aphrodisiacs. Ask an Italian 

American Catholic father of 13. 

But good luck to the ‘nauts. 

Imagine one drinking Tang

through a straw as another 

cracks a joke. First spews 

little orange bubbles through-

out the zero-gravity cockpit. 

Nothing Houston can’t handle.

Philip Ash surfs the Dark Wave spectrum in your dreams. His work has appeared in Fixator Press and Beatnik Cowboy. He lives in San Diego.

INDIFFERENT MOON By Roger Singer

a night hawk

without footsteps

burns and

cuts the wind

pressing, striking

with command

grasping the unaware

on a meadow

under an

indifferent moon

 

 

Dr. Singer has had over 1,200 poems published on the internet, magazines and in books and is a Pushcart Award Nominee.  Some of the magazines that have accepted his poems for publication are:  Westward Quarterly, Jerry Jazz, SP Quill, Avocet, Underground Voices, Outlaw Poetry, Literary Fever, Dance of my Hands, Language & Culture, The Stray Branch, Tipton Poetry Indigo Rising, Down in the Dirt, Fullosia Press, Orbis, Penwood Review, Subtle Tea, Ambassador Poetry Award, Massachusetts State Poetry Society.  Louisiana State Poetry Society Award.  Readers Award Orbis Magazine 2019.  Arizona State Poetry Award 2020.

Mad Swirl Anthology 2018, 2019.

 

 

I Am Not Thirsty By Wayne Hebb

I drink for that

Warm fuzzy feeling

Leaving my problems

In its wake

Sometimes it takes

Just one 

Despite that, I always

Have another and another

I rarely stop at two

It makes me smile until

It doesn’t and 

Things get ugly

Drunken rants

The hurling of fists 

Blows striking on

My face until 

I am a sour smelling

Lump on the floor and

The bouncers carry me out

I wake on the sidewalk 

Wet with the night rain 

Staggering to my feet 

I make my way home

To that dreary apartment

Falling on that unmade bed

I sleep in a stupor 

Waking mid-day with

Depression staring at me 

With those sad tormented eyes

And I sink into that rut

Where I am not thirsty but

I need a drink

Wayne Hebb is a retired RCMP officer living in St. John’s, NL, Canada with his wife of 49 years. He enjoys writing poetry, short stories, creative nonfiction, and novels.  Several of his poems have been published in Verse-Virtual, The Dark Poets Society, The Horseshoe Literary Magazine and The Galway Review. 

MY DRUNKEN COMPANION By John Grey

I press dollars on the table,

faces up,

dead presidents smiling

at the pretty waitress.

She does not mind my foolishness.

And, besides, her smile

is bright and well-practiced.

I borrow it for a moment.

For the man beside me

with his sad heart

and his tales of deceitful exes,

corrupt bosses,

ungrateful family,

needs all the smiles he can get.

He lifts a hand to wave at her.

Not a wave exactly.

It’s more a kind of prayer

And she brings more wine,

enough to loosen the edges

of both our faces.

He doesn’t lighten up exactly.

But he begins to doze.

And maybe he can find solace

in whatever dreams may come.

I leave him there, walk home

past the window

where he still sits,

head down, muttering something

in my direction,

in a kind of slurry code that says

you must always be drunk.

And I think:

hell, maybe he’s right.

Maybe you must always be drunk -

on wine, on women, on sorrow,

on the simple fact that the world

keeps refusing to end.

So I go home, kick off my shoes,

and drink to that.

 

 

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Novus and Abbey. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the MacGuffin, Touchstone and Willow Review.

I Might Get the Jellyfish Haircut By Juliet Cook

The more absurd my buzz becomes

the better until I bang my head 

on the keyboard and don't remember

the lines I wrote the next day,

but that often happens anyway.

Anyway if I lie down right now,

then I'll unintentionally cause the black cat

to jump off the bed, because he will think

that I think I take precedence over him

even though I don't think any such thing.

My recent online research has involved

how to know if a cat likes you, 

but also poisonous jellyfish, 

inadvertently leading towards

a trending jellyfish haircut

combined with cancerous wigs.

If the cat follows me, does he like me

or does he hate me? Maybe 

I shouldn't have gone downstairs.

I can hear him breathing, but 

I don't know if he can hear me.

Juliet Cook doesn't fit inside an Easy-Bake Oven and rarely cooks. Her poetry has appeared in a peculiar multitude of literary publications. She is the author of numerous poetry chapbooks, most recently including "red flames burning out" (Grey Book Press, 2023), "Contorted Doom Conveyor" (Gutter Snob Books, 2023), "Your Mouth is Moving Backwards" (Ethel Zine & Micro Press, 2023), "REVOLTING" (Cul-de-sac of Blood, 2024), and "Blue Stingers Instead of Wings" (Pure Sleeze Press, 2025). Her most recent full-length poetry book, "Malformed Confetti" was published by Crisis Chronicles Press. You can find out more at https://julietcook.weebly.com/.

Cocktail By J.I. Kleinberg

In winter’s last rationing of light

set out your implements of alchemy,

your snug utensils of conjury,

your beakers and powders, glass

wands and amulets. Wipe dust

and stain from your table, carve

a block of ice from the glacier’s lip.

Drop it in a tall glass.

Before it begins to melt, whisper

an incantation of constellations 

in a language you do not speak. 

Take a small scoop from the moon

with a long-handled silver spoon. 

Gather fog from the horizon 

or from a cleft of pine-clad hills. 

Drizzle it into the glass.

Do not be alarmed if the moon 

begins to shiver. 

At midnight local time

fill a small vial with darkness.

Tip it so the darkness streaks the fog

and stains a bit of the moon.

On a scrap of paper from the pocket

of a coat long-unworn

write seven questions.

Murmur the questions into the glass

only until it is full.

Do not allow the contents to spill over.

Crumple the paper and bury it

in your garden. Slip a hollow reed

into the glass and sip slowly 

as you ponder the answers.

J.I. Kleinberg lives in Bellingham, Washington, and on Instagram @jikleinberg. She is the author of The Word for Standing Alone in a Field (Bottlecap, 2023), How to pronounce the wind (Paper View, 2023), Desire’s Authority (Ravenna Press Triple No. 23, 2023), She needs the river (Poem Atlas, 2024), and Sleeping Lessons (Milk & Cake, 2025). All of We is forthcoming from Anhinga Press.