This is how it is

The little ant stood on the edge of

the curb, to avoid being stepped on

and looked down,

as the city crowds shuffled by,

faces clinched to another

average  day.


And  someone noticed the little ant,

on the curb’s edge – and shouted

to the ant, “Jump! Jump you little fucker!”


It’s tough out here.


Tony Walton

Tony Walton is a Caribbean writer living in the Cayman Islands. His works have appeared in Storyteller Magazine, Moonkind Press, Whisperings Magazine, Mountain Tales Press, Out of Our Magazine, Poydras Review, Poetry Bay Magazine, Burningword Literary Journal, Wilde Magazine, Nite Writers Literary International Literary Journal, Tiny Moments, Avalon Literary Review, Iceland Daily, East Lit Literary Magazine, Boston Poetry Magazine, Eunoia Magazine, Olentangy Review, Carnival Literary Magazine, Verity LA, Phantom Kangaroo, Tincture Journal, Star 82 Review, Seltzerzine, Literature Today and Morphorg Magazine.




it is better than an empty closet,

for it encourages thrift

and reminds us

that we can, indeed, slam

those rosewood doors,

a cautious sanctimony

tucked in the scarves

of the accomplished

and inarguably well-spoken moms

who told us of regrets

we ought not to strive for.




and reach as lost stars do.

the clothes on our backs

flapping in light autumn sweat.

ready to be folded

again, near public showers.




Kristine Brown

Kristine Brown is a freelance writer and editor located in Southwest Texas. Her writing has been featured in Forage Poetry, In-Flight Literary Magazine, Dulcet Quarterly, Thought Catalog, Journal of Asian Politics and History, and Sanglap: Journal of Literary and Cultural Inquiry. While her work is driven by research, Kristine aims to expand herself creatively through poetry and prose. She experiments with writing at her blog, Crumpled Paper Cranes (



A.J. Huffman

A Brand New World


Strange cracks evaporate,

buckle like a sky that has forgotten

its blue.  Clouds

crawl off the floor, point

accusingly at stars swearing

they are innocent as a bathroom

mirror.  Three leaves send up smoke

signals, invitations to tomorrow’s mess.



Of Onions and Umbrellas


Parallel creatures of hanging,

droplets are their common denomination.

Production vs. repellant.  Necessity

will decide as I stand in abandoned

doorway.  Surrounded

by solace, I waver

between kitchen cabinets and countryside

pathways.  I inhale

freedom-scented winds from both sides.

I wonder if I held

a match between my teeth,

would I spark, change

the weather or the world?



Midnight in Central Park


Clock tolls, harsh tones

of deadline’s passing.  Old contracts

now void; New contracts, yet to be

inked, lay stagnant on conference-room table.

The squirrels and pigeons have spent hours

painting protest slogans on posterboards,

now firmly fastened to limbs

graciously donated by the trees.  Morning

will find a feral picket line rising

with the sun.  Let the tourists try

and cross.  A mouthful of human nuts might be

an interesting change of pace.  Thoughts darken

as demands are prepared for release.  Select

branches have been branded, stand ready

for wind’s first liberation movement.  Seeds and

crumbs to be bickered over, most will be fodder

for the camel-cracking straw: Respect.  Less

smoking.  The flowers feel brown tint

is a terrible shade to bloom.  No stilettos.  The grass

is wimpy, sparse at best, already aerated enough.

Absolute banishment of Alka-Seltzer.

Some urban legends need not be

granted acreage for daily testing by teenagers.

Mandatory permits for artists and musicians.  The

ability to hold can or conversation does not make

a Monet or Missy Elliot.  Little reprieves

that might make the daily doses of drunks and

muggers bearable.  The last

[semi]natural wildlife in this city is crying

out for compromise.


Dawn comes, as do the villagers.  Both storm past,

ignore flurry of fur and feathers, paws and wings.

These mindless migrants remain

too blinded by their own

desire to beat the rush, to make the train.



A.J. Huffman

A.J. Huffman has published thirteen full-length poetry collections, thirteen solo poetry chapbooks and one joint poetry chapbook through various small presses. Her most recent releases, The Pyre On Which Tomorrow Burns (Scars Publications), Degeneration (Pink Girl Ink), A Bizarre Burning of Bees (Transcendent Zero Press), and Familiar Illusions (Flutter Press) are now available from their respective publishers. She is a five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of Net nominee, and has published over 2600 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, The Bookends Review, Bone Orchard, Corvus Review, EgoPHobia, and Kritya.


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