A Town Called Heartbreak

A Town Called Heartbreak

A Town Called Heartbreak Howie Good In the third week of the war, she heard a strange sound and stepped out onto the terrace of her  house. She was killed instantly by a stray bullet. I haven’t slept too well since then. Opinion  leaders keep shouting, “Stop resisting! Stop resisting!” That’s a rather antiquated and narrow  notion of conflict. A Molotov cocktail also poses a risk to the person who throws it. I think this is  how I will end – disappearing in a blur. If you want reality, just go and stand there. You’ll see it.  It’s there. Life is full of pictures we didn’t take.

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comedians in cells getting beaten

comedians in cells getting beaten

mockingbird perched on a cement wall comedians in cells getting beaten Michael Prihoda imagine, instead of Mohamedou, my name were Kevin James. a before and after photo that spells WASP in both frames.           instead, i’m the punchline of a joke your president likes to tell           as bedtime story to a nation sponging propaganda                     off sweating                     foreheads.

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The Rent

The Rent

dilapidated floorboards covered in snow The Rent John Grey I’m still vinyl. The needle hums. The adagio – falling bricks – tossed pillows – a pile of mulch. Bicycle tires keep deflating, chain-smoke billows from the chimney, branches from a dead oak slam against the window, clothes find the one place in my room where it’s impossible to retrieve them. Flowers not yet buds, (just melodies drawing me back). Forgive my degrading tendencies. from now, scrim floats across the bed at night, then never again. I am listening to Orff. I imagine him trapped in his own music. I tried to write a cantata But nothing ever came together like this wood floors' grainy seams. Meanwhile, in familiar places, sprout mushrooms, like all things they came into their time that’s all – my landlord intervenes with trick language regarding rent and the white light of rising strings stuck on repeat. I tell him the soles of my shoes are useless on the surface of water but I’d

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X's for Eyes

X's for Eyes

bare white trees X's for Eyes Howie Good 1 Years ago we loved life so much, everything in the world, including the air. The moral should be  obvious. It’s big enough to be seen among the cacophony of windows. I’m just wondering what  comes next, if we’ll only be able to view nature in assigned locations. You’ll go and sit in a dark  room, surrounded by strangers. When you scream, only half of the people will understand. 2 I fell asleep to the rat-tat-tat of rain and dreamed I could breathe underwater. The grieving came  later, when we learned there could be such a thing as too much sunshine. Animal rescuers cut  open a whale’s belly on the beach and found coins and plastic water bottles inside. Maybe it was  a cry for help, but maybe not. People were saying it was only a matter of time before those little  white birds returned to pick clean the teeth of crocodiles. Meanwhile, the rain would be  represented by a succession of broken lines, and death by x’s

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Fall 2019 - Our First Issue is Up!

Fall 2019 - Our First Issue is Up!

Our first issue is officially available! Check out poetry from Howie Good, John Grey, Michael Prihoda, Claire Gagnon, and Douglas Hill here. We'll be spotlighting these poems over the coming days. Happy fall!

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We're Staffed!

We're Staffed!

Pleased to announce that we are staffed up and starting to look at submissions for our first issue. Thank you everyone who showed an interest! We can't wait to share your amazing works with the world.

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Seeking Staff

Seeking Staff

We are seeking staff to help as editors and social media manager. Our litmag is available entirely free, no charge for submissions, and so we also are not able to offer any compensation. We will offer our eternal gratitude though, and you can brag about the experience. :) If you are interested in helping make a difference in poets' lives by volunteering as editor or social media manager, email editor@shooklit.com.

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