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Robert Vogt - Editor

Robert Vogt is an EFL professor as well as a published novelist, short fiction author, and poet.

Lefty Obradovich - Assistant Editor

Lefty Obradovich is a linguistics professor at a well-renowned university in the western part of the U.S. His favorite pastime is improving his Cantonese by talking about absolutely nothing at all to the proprietors of shops in the Chinese part of town in the city in which he resides.

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Poems - Mitchel Montagna

Labor Day 

A veil of sun
shimmered on the lake;
a grove of pines
blurred in its wake.
Skinny girls teased  
with burnt-cork eyes,
smoking Camels and
getting high. 
Glare lifted like fog;
the heat bloomed,
like a spreading fire
through the afternoon.
Bleary-eyed dads
came off their chairs;
they staggered down
to the sunburned square.
Crushed by drink, 
they stomped and cried
their dirty oaths
at the steaming sky.
The girls felt glee;
they felt their best.
They disrobed to show
their mothers’ breasts –
splendid and raw –
for the dazzled men,
that pitiless day
at summer’s end.

Middle Age Folly

Lurching hole-eyed and numb, he wondered if talking might
   help. Maybe he could regain their respect that

way; he could show wisdom as the product of his experience.
   He rehearsed during wretched nights:  “Did you ever 

look into a mirror and see something lower than dog shit?”
   He gripped sheets as fever wrung him, sweat blistering  

his skin.  “I don’t mean that as a metaphor. I mean, really 
   lower than dog shit.”  But he u…

Poems - Benjamin Blake

Let the Motel Room Neon Light be My Confessional
I sliced open these hardened veins Leaving me cauterizing with alcohol yet again It's the heart or the bottle Or a combination of the two
I once fucked two girls on a football field When night had fallen And their boyfriends celebrated a birthday Only yards away
You have no idea of the depravity Of the secrets buried Beneath a sly smile And a horoscope of hopelessness

The Real Roominghouses of Los Angeles 
Hanging out  For the sweet smog-choked Southern California sun  There are much worse ways to asphyxiate  And I hold little fear of death, anyway 
To lie buried beneath  A mountain of scattered screenplays and unpublished novels  In a cheap hotel room As the streetlamp flickers through the curtainless window  And the roaches scuttle with purpose across the typewriter keys  Drawing the death-rattle of the dying  I will be sated enough 
Illegal Firearms
City lights, beneath a burning skyline Bums and taxi-cabs crawl on by Left in the bar, lipstick note scrawled …

POEMS - Cole Bauer

So what, motherfucker? I had a few drinks  And some hookahs With shisha and weed mixed
So what, motherfucker? I made some jokes A few comments But it's shunned upon  Something so innocent Because the pussies say so 
So what, motherfucker? I'm listening to music  Wasted With a storm outside Writing whatever I want Until I can't anymore
The sound of Multi-colored leaves Crash landing  On my patio Should bring me Happiness With it being fall My favorite season
Instead Like everything else In this life It is taken away From me
I may be in it But I can't enjoy it The world won't let me It wins With its distractions And everything else Will be fine Next summer
The shit can get so deep That you slip and fall right in Whether it's rain in the storm And you're on foot going home Or the stress of the struggle Causing life to plummet  But I have my slip-resistant shoes On, tied extra tight And enough anger to take on  Harvey and whatever thing in this world I…