Flying Island

To-Do List by D.C. Buschmann 000000 Entries hang  like apples with due insouciance until becoming the r aison d'être picked off just before putrid. Giving Birth to a Dancing Star by D.C. Buschmann After the view 000000 on the 000000000 mountain 0000000000000000 top 000000000000 after the tempest 000000 in the abyss comes 000000a calm 000000000000 from the pounding rain teaching us to love 000000 for love’s 00000000000000 sake 000000000000000000 and 000000 to let go 000000000000 of the 00000000000000000 umbrella. "I tell you: One must have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing star." —Nietzsche,  Thus Spoke Zarathustra D.C. Buschmann  is routinely ordered about by two miniature schnauzers, Cupcake and Coco, and is a freelance editor in Carmel, Indiana. She has been published in numerous anthologies in the U.S., the U.K., Australia, and India, including  Rat’s Ass Review  and Lamar University’s  Wise Ass Anthology .

World  by Lisa Barton I do not want to be your reliable laid back afterthought so cool-stylish-composed there is more I have insides to my insides and some ain’t pretty I want the same things what you keep for sacred dears you exalted for no purpose decorating your landscape with pink flamingos bordered by tiki torches I am ferociousearthshattering radiantnakeduncompromising impatientunsatiatedsensuality lovingfightingembracingglorious life in a frame of bone and meat barely contained, full to bursting pushing you towards recognition carving out MY landscape crushing your fucking flamingos and setting the shards on fire Careening  by Lisa Barton I’m riding the bronco on a most runaway out-of-control carousel playing calliope music slightly off key pulsing nightclub dancer disco bass thumps into my most exposed mind I tilt-sway-snap the jerks shake me out of brief soft focus reveries of warm arms pulling my shaky frame into slow motion bliss I wa

Editor's Note : May 17 is Norway Constitution Day Leirvik Oysters by Chandy John Thick algae-green shell Delicate pattern, unyielding mouth Cracked open with force and skill Yields slimy, salty, repellent joy Nose, mouth, tongue Inhale The western Norway coast Remains in stomach memory From Chandy John: “I'm a a pediatrician, researcher and author whose prose, poems and fiction have been published in Sojourners, Phantasmagoria, JAMA, The Pharos, Annals of Internal Medicine, Journal of General Internal Medicine and The Michigan Alumnus. I live and work in Indiana, Kenya and Uganda.”

Emily's Chamber by Jo Barbara Taylor                           after lines by Sarah Edwards Emily enters the evening garden like a tide that slips onto shore, awakens sensual senses, reaches beyond today, erases yesterday, seeks evidence for tomorrow. Her way of being in a world of interlopers, and at low-tide, she leaves, retreats from the garden shore to sanctuary. In her room, plain like a cotton bedsheet, she writes, taut words tumbling smooth onto white linen paper, tucked and folded in. Jo Barbara Taylor lives in North Carolina, but is an Indiana farm girl at heart. Her poems and academic writing have appeared in journals, magazines, anthologies and online. How to Come and Go (Chatter House Press 2016) is her fourth book. She leads poetry-writing workshops through Duke Continuing Education, chairs the workshop committee for the North Carolina Poetry Society, and coordinates a poetry reading series for a Raleigh indepe

Repeat Offender by Lylanne Musselman Nothing prepares you for the broken record of your mom’s mind on a circular spin; with each repeated phrase you feel yourself spinning out of control. You must remember she cannot reason any more than one can reason with a two-year-old. Sometimes when you tell her she can’t drive anymore she argues, cries, and pleads to give her just one more chance. You tell her you’re afraid for her safety and the safety of others. She says you can ride with her and if she does something bad, just tell her to pull over and she will; and all at once you remember: a younger, saner mom who was mad at you as a young adult, a passenger in her car. She floored it on the back roads, saying she didn’t care if she killed us both. And, you realize how irrational she has always been – when she is not in control. Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning poet, playwright, and artist, living in Indiana. Her work has appeared in