Glory Hole Apartments – Meeah Williams

Three a.m. and the knocking starts on the wall above my headboard. It’s old Mr. Cromartie again. It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m alone, minding my own business, and until ten seconds ago I was sound asleep. It’s Mr. Cromartie who is wide awake, causing the ruckus. I scooch out from under the covers and get up on my knees.

There, in the cored out hole of the cardboard-thin wall between our apartments,



Peking Doves – Manuel Marrero

Aleister Lately had come to count on these roughly biweekly itinerant sojourns to the yawning crevasse in the Deep South. The sigil of Tiamat, primordial chaos incarnate, suitably byzantine and baroque, called him crowing over to the Whore of Babylon, taking his flexible days off when needed, hoping beyond any reasonable measure that his proverbial parole officer wouldn’t come lurking, skulking behind beady eyes and avuncular brows to lift him from degeneracy.



Ville Platte Southern Belle – James D. Casey IV

I crushed a roach the other
day, it made me think of you.

My mind often wanders
over to you in moments

such as this. Opening
a smelly little can of

Coonass worms, speaking
in Cajun French. I hated

you, still do, but sometimes I
miss those enormous saggy

titties and the moans you used
to make when you took my nice

hard cock in your tight little
asshole like a fucking champ.



Poetry Is – Garth T. Ogle

“What is in a poem?

Is it just metaphors?

In this verbal poem,

Garth expounds his perspective on the art,

as a Skald might have.

No kings or famous warriors were lauded in this poem,



Garth T. Ogle is a poet and novelist. His latest work is “The Bowl of Tears and Solace”