by Steve Rubinstein [divider] I was already worried when he took my hand to wipe at his tears. By then through the wall-high windows I noticed wet splatters, sleet, painted streets. He looked me over first to see if I was waiting on a friend, on a train, for him to move further away. The rain would not stop so he stood there dripping cursing the night; I would not talk so instead he sat down. October, selfish, had stolen the last bit of sun from the stripped down days left of autumn. I did not tell him, would not talk, did not ask when sun would come again, where…

by L.J. Bosela Merry’s Island In the distance, in the sun, I see an island, all in gold Where only silver winds can run Forgotten in times untold. If I might, I’ll go there And find at last my Long lost peace of mind.   Et Tu? There is a haze about the moon tonight Do you see it too? There is an aching in my heart tonight A void in my soul My thoughts are consuming me Do you feel it too?   Shades of Reality Shadows, occupying the tables Watching over raised books The masses of the living Who dwell in shades of reality. Shadows, never speaking up…

by L.J. Bosela Good King Wenceslas looked out On the Feast of Stephen When the snow lay round-about Deep and crisp and even, Brightly shone the moon that night Though the frost was cruel When a poor man came in sight Gathering winter’s fuel.   The snow still lies so soft and white And the frost still bites cruel The poor men are all about But where is the Good King? Have we all forgotten then That no matter what we be We should not forsake Our brothers who still need?   Joy to the world, the Lord is come Let earth recieve her King Let every heart  Prepare him…

by Nick Treinen There are galaxies in these pots, Says Tom and we watch sparks Cluster with stars as they whirl From the chimney with abandon. Front stoke, side stoke, damper shut And let elm, cottonwood and pine brew In a whispering bed of coals that tremble In wait; the plotting volcanic bowels. Or is she a dragon? Anagama, Her gut gorged with pots, breathes out. Tumbleweeds wither and ashes rustle away. As the sun rises on the fourth day, The world stops to let light fill Chino’s plain. Crickets hold their notes; in their dens The coyotes are still. No smoke rises. A lone darkling beetle crawls into sight,…

by Nikolai Windahl Robber of Gods I drank the earth shine To the very last drop I became supersaturated and Oozed light from every pore I Breathed in the dark and Exhaled golden fire I bled tears of joyous magma and Deep into the earth I melted beyond all recognition Recycling puddles of lifetime I returned to the earth its shine [divider] Finally Winter Has Come   Quietly, coldly and forming Storming, howling and blowing Snowily, deepening and whitening Skiing, laughing and smiling Freely, flying and floating Resting, smoking and drinking Sleeping, snoring and dreaming Finally winter has come…. [divider] Nikolai is a Minnesota native who loves the outdoors.

by Nikolai Windahl The snow out at Turnagain is deep, like really fuckin’ deep. I sit in class and cannot listen because I know when this power point is over I’m free! Running to my room, beacon, probe, shovel, helmet, boots, snowboard, jacket, bibs, gloves, snowshoes, poles, everything. All these items crammed into a specific spot in my backpack. Galloping to the car my things become projectiles as they shoot into the trunk. On the road, snowy, icy, no studs, lame. Death grip on the wheel and too many contracting muscles. Relax. Breathe. After about two hours of this process I find myself in the Eddies lot with one other…