Soup Bone Says by Fred Shaw

    Put a fan on it, because that’s how we parch what spills here, caged metal blades carving the air, blowing loose scraps into crumb-lined corners. A recipe for disaster is what we call this place, built on fried zucchini and foot-size fish sandwiches, its brown kitchen tiles iced tea-slick. Septuagenarian, Soup Bone moves bear-hunched and bowlegged, surveying his…

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Space by Ray DiZazzo

SPACE (Mistakenly untethered at the of rear of the craft, she leaned away to view the earth.)   The slightest turn.            An unintended push            and                   suddenly              you are                        out of touch                 out            …

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