January/February 2016

JanFeb cover

Edited by: Santino DallaVecchia

Dear Reader by Santino Dalla Vecchia

There’s a bump in the floor by Elizabeth Austin

Three More Reasons by Karli Henning

My Best Friend Loves Bananas by Tara Brecht

Traditions by Karli Henning

Father by Taylor Card

It’s April and Our Knuckles Are Cold by Angela Williams

Hydrologic by Eric Morris-Pusey

Breath by Taylor McAllister

Extinction of the Planet by Daniel de Cullá

Because of St. Kevin and the Blackbird by Angela Williams

Dancing with My Lass to Elvis Costello by John Rybicki

Work of Art by Matthew Cicci

Stalemate by Eric Morris-Pusey

Front¨ Doors by Daniel de Cullá

Socks I Won’t Get Back by Karli Henning

Jack by Elizabeth Austin

Mental Illness ABC’s by Karli Henning

Nicole by Taylor Card

On a Piece of Paper You Were About to Burn by John Rybicki

Sway by Elizabeth Austin

Spotlight Piece: External Verifications that Your Doppelgänger is Stalking You by John Urdiales

Photography

Growing or dying? by Domenica DallaVecchia

Twisted crossroad by Domencia DallaVecchia

Water and It’s Sky by Domenica DallaVecchia

Twinkle, Twinkle, little Lake by Domenica DallaVecchia

Twilight through the trees by Domenica DallaVecchia

Download our PDF Issue containing all Poetry and Photography! See Spot Run- JanFeb 2016

Spotlight Piece: External Verifications that Your Doppelgänger is Stalking You by John Urdiales

People say I look like their friends, their brothers, sons, dead husbands. I would not know what to do if I ran into myself. It would be as if looking into a mirror, but wearing different clothes and perhaps slightly variant glasses—or no glasses at all—and a swaggering stride which I might find overtly aberrant. What would I do? What would I say? Would words even be necessary? How might I prevent a row, a scene in the street? Would the hand of God descend from the clouds and pick one of us up to prevent some catastrophic event from happening—an event which He has always-already ordained by allowing such an encounter? Would I even believe in God? Might I, in fact, play the harp? Would I orchestrate melodies of rich undertones without having a conception of the soul? without having a clear identity of mind, body, spirit? Would I have a spirit? I would have spirits bountiful enough to live in ecstasy—perhaps ecstasy, too, and other inhibitors of hallucinogenic transformation. And would I live in an imaginary setting, filled with the wonders of material love, of a love so free it could not be chained, could not be understood by the roving masses? Perhaps the moon might crash into the earth, into this comfy, cozy town; or might the governing political bodies break into civil war? Would life be worth living after such an abominable confrontation? Would I remember how to pray, how to think, or how to read, to write, to sing or how to dance? No—perhaps reality would crumble, would find itself in a situation where nothing could continue as it always-already is, was, will come to be. ‘I’ would no longer exist: only ‘we’. Then again—he might have great taste in music and coffee.

Originally Published in the January/February 2016 Issue.

Dear Reader

Clive Barker, in his novel The Thief of Always, wrote, “The great grey beast of February had eaten Harvey Swick alive.” What unfolds against the backdrop of winter’s last gasp is Harvey’s panoply of discovery and discord. In this issue, Maddening the Sacred Eulogy, we hope you find yourself initiated into your own journey through the end of Winter into Spring.

Santino DallaVecchia

Editor

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