Issue Eighty-seven, March 2017

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Moonpickers, Mariah Montoya
“It’s nighttime, and around me backs arch in labor, scooping the illuminating slivers out of pasture grass and sliding them into stained gray buckets. Our silence is not heavy like our buckets, but lacking gravity instead, dismissed of all depth, only wondering when the next sunrise can be and how the sun can possibly rise with a shattered moon that fell to earth and stayed there.”

Violence on Thursday, Michael A. Ferro
“Mondays are wretched but there is little you can do to fight against a Monday; you sit down and you let it beat you, blow after blow until the clock runs out. Thursdays on the other hand seem almost the perfect time for fighting back, for violence.”

Sergeant Cuff names a rose ‘Catherine Earnshaw’, Marie Marshall
“[Cuff, porlocked by the arrival of a telegram, / “Assistance needed urgent at Rue Morgue,” / packs nothing but a slim valise and leaps to / his old calling!] all the time making Thesauri / of redness to populate his diary prose; he laughs”

FTONA , Paul Van Dyke
“They were a collection of privateers from a distant future who learned how to harness the time traveling abilities of turtles to send themselves back in time. The data included detailed plans of how they were altering the past for a massive global takeover in the year 2132. I was disgusted. I couldn’t believe anyone would make a mockery of turtle ownership.”

Cover art: Rope, Chris Beetow