“He reeks of last night’s wine!” That’s off the mark.
He drinks until dawn clarifies the dark.
Hesterno fetere mero qui credit Acerram,
fallitur: in lucem semper Acerra bibit.
Contributed By: David Macey, Martial
“He reeks of last night’s wine!” That’s off the mark.
He drinks until dawn clarifies the dark.
Hesterno fetere mero qui credit Acerram,
fallitur: in lucem semper Acerra bibit.
Return to table of contents for Issue 12 Winter 2018.
Among the rich, anger’s no rarity: hatred comes cheaper than charity. Genus, Aucte, lucri divites habent iram: odisse quam donare vilius constat. Return to table of contents for Issue 12 Winter 2018.
Rome lauds, loves, and sings my little books. I am in every pocket, every hand. Behold: she blushes, pales, dazes, yawns, looks sick. That’s what I want! Now I’m my own fan. Laudat,…
In Prisov, not far from Košice, a shul or rather an exhibit of itself restored, except of course for its congregation, is open for tourists to visit and inspect. On a wall are photographs of…
I’ll remember you too clearly . . . There was the college room of it: a fishnet on the walls and ceiling above a single bed. A turntable on bookshelves of stacked cinderblock and pine…
“If a dollar was only ten cents,” our middle child, Carmen, says as she digs into her purse, “everything would be a lot cheaper.” I turn to her, ready to respond, to correct her mistaken notion. But then I pause, my mind suddenly locked up. Her mother squints, lips moving, she too attempting to work […]
I am eating Greek salad at Panera when my phone rings. I don’t usually pick up, but it’s been a week since my biopsy and I’m still sore and my right boob is bruised black and yellow and I’ve been waiting days that have stretched on like 600 miles of bad road. My boob looks […]
If I have wandered around this city’s broken sidewalks, pothole-ridden roads, too crowded to notice another memory-heavy somnambulist, it is because, I see no glory in being ache-chiseled into an immaculate alphabet. The lengthening shadows of the hawk on the lamp-post, the murky water that fills the rust-heavy bucket of the […]
