July 2006 | back-issues, fiction, Michael W. Giberson
the night before martin luther king
was gunned down in memphis
he came screaming
out of a dream.
the instant outside roanoke
that his plane smacked a mountain
was the first time since holtzwihr
that audie murphy wasn’t afraid.
audie and martin met in heaven and
walked Paradise apart
from listening angels,
the ears of God.
what they whispered
to each other
was not put down
into the book of ages…
they swapped medals,
and their laughter echoed
through heaven and earth,
to hell and back.
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Log In RegisterSeptember 2002 | back-issues, fiction, Michael W. Giberson
We had this big old Chinese elm tree by our patio taken out last year. Now a two hundred square foot area next to the patio is nothing but dirt, which my two ninety-mile-per-hour Australian shepherds are constantly tracking onto the patio. So my wife wants me to
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Log In RegisterJuly 2002 | back-issues, fiction, Michael W. Giberson
I’ve got a streak of mean.
Yesterday I had to take the bus to work because the chariot was in the shop. I love to ride the bus because you meet all kinds of friendly persons from the lower socio-economic stratum. They’re far more interesting than rich white people.
So, anyway,
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Log In RegisterJuly 2002 | back-issues, Michael W. Giberson, poetry
for Brent Stalker
If the dead could rise
To take your part,
And you lie
Bleeding in their stead,
The silent covenant
Between you bred
Of comradeship
Would not falter.
Do not rage your solvent heart.
Do not rue God’s bleeding altar.
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Log In RegisterMay 2002 | back-issues, Michael W. Giberson
It’s really a matter of style. A man can piss in a perfect arc if he remembers to adhere to a few simple rules.
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Log In RegisterFebruary 2002 | back-issues, fiction, Michael W. Giberson
To skim across
the aortic arch
on surface tension,
no more than vibration,
a referred tremor,
a memory of a dream
glimmering across the milieu,
a half-sensed
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