#ThrowbackThursday

We are excited to announce that Phoebe is beginning the process of digitally archiving past issues and will be posting them here and on Twitter via #ThrowbackThursday. We plan to re-publish work from past print issues once a week to promote the fantastic writing that’s been in our journal over the years and the amazing writers we’ve partnered with in the past. Click the images below to see what we’ve re-published from specific issues, or visit our #ThrowbackThursday blogroll to see our most recent re-publications.

Landscape with Condoms

Mordecai Marcus 1 The park was boats, ducks, people, but more than these always the discarded condom: stretched out, showing its slime, or heaped in a coil. Seen from a distance it slowly took shape and became itself, while a sharp intake of breath twisted my body towards the world of its use, eons away,…

Drive/In

Jim Everhard   the screen was bigger than the sky/bigger than dream/ what massive eyeballs/the size of blimps/ hindenbergs aflame with desire/lips as large as loch ness monsters/ bulletholes like flaming hoops in a cyclops’ circus/ the sherriff’s badge/a nova for the good guys/ black hats like milkyways of cruelty/how can I please you in…

The Haunting

Jim Everhard   I am the vault behind the fireplace that hasn’t been opened in years, where the family curse sleeps in stifled air, wrinkled by cobwebs. I am the warm, staggered breath that breaks loose from nowhere, opens the squeaking door, and blows every fuse in the house, leaving you petrified in the dark.…

Whitey’s Holy Causes

Jim Everhard   here you go boy nice clean gun go shoot yourself a gook for uncle sam just remember cause we’re snuffing gooks today don’t mean we can’t snuff us a nigger tomorrow no tap dancing on duty you hear   Jim Everhard is the author of a book of poems, Cute (1982). He…

Ophelia A Work in Progress

Jim Everhard       Who talks of victory? To endure is all.       – Rainer Maria Rilke Together we visited the lakes in Massachusetts and an old man stopped us at one particularly beautiful one and told us three people in the last year had taken their life there. We were amazed, the surface looked so serene,…

Renegades (for Evelyn Thorne)

Jim Everhard   In the darkness the moon opens and there is nothing but light in the twists of its mind, the unthought of dreams of dead men bending back toward the earth, reaching the eyes of renegade children out late and hungry and cold, hiding low in the fields and woods, listening to the…

for Ron Acker

Jim Everhard   “The mad clowns have finally put their false faces to rest.” – Ron Acker Calliope horses have broken their legs, and the circle is broken, And the music stops, as the children, holding back their tears, are leading them away to be shot. And beautiful women are weeping on the outskirts of…

Percival On The North Jersey Shore

John Burnett Payne   At the grand hotel the children are incredibly few and always lost playing hide-and-seek with nurses and grandparents bored enough to watch a kitchen man paring carrots sensibly wary of the ritual of watching parents eating, parents drinking, quarrelling, parents depositing them with grandparents. Seldom for them is the feeling of…

Seeing Eye Dog

Ellen Kirvin Dudis   We all—from fear of a dark which denies sympathy to a blind person’s first presence in our eyes— feel for the dog. It is unrehearsed. He sinks to the wet subway floor, in pools where the points of streaming umbrellas have given up duels with the rain. A speaker will tell…

Death in a Fig

Peter Streckfus   1. We’ll eat figs, black ones, dried while it rains outside, while it rains through the doors and windows There will be very little speaking during the meal mostly tasting and forks clinking, footsteps going from the table to the kitchen for more. We’ll say “wasps” And when there’s some rice on…
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