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issue 4.01   ::   summer 2014
Scary Bush

Our bravest contributors have shared with us some of their more earnest efforts from the misty past. Scary Bush should not be reviewed while in the process of drinking liquids, and the reader assumes all risk.


Elizabeth Vignali


The Kill.

Benjamin Smith

The comedian chokes on her cigarette.
Her lips are red and her cheeks flush with
each flare of the tip. She
exhumes the audience on her exhale.
She has just received a heckler.
Her hawk eyes scour the culprit.
She is fury; she is wrath;
She conjures weapons beneath her breath
as she scalpels out her victim.
She finds him, faceless, swallowing his tongue
on the back row; he shrinks as
she swells. Her eyes well with vengeance
as she swoops in for the kill.


Jennifer MacBain-Stephens


I also ordered fries

Paige Clark



Chris Deal

We laugh,
the two of us,
over something
something completely
devoid of meaning,

and it is amazing,
to hear
the vibrations
of your soul
in the tones you make.

it is a diversion,
but it makes you smile,
makes your eyes shine,

and when I see that,
it makes something inside me
want to burst.

I think of myself
without you
and it feels
like a disfigurement.

I tell you that the Latin
for blood is sanguine,
that linguistically,
anguish is related
to blood,

and you ask
if that's true.

I think i'm lying
but I can't be sure,

and you laugh.

Confessions of a Shutterbug

Jessie Janeshek



Zakia Khwaja


Mothers Day Note

Kevin Casey


{Untitled Attempt from Sandy's Poetry Journal, circa 2004}

Sandra Marchetti

Little Car,
Little Car.
Jungle green paint in the plain yellow sun
Grinding your gears
Ignoring the wanton breaks
Hating yourself for missing parking lots on the way in.

Hansel's Harvest

Mary Lou Buschi


Infatuated Recollections

Jamie O’Connell (age 15)

A faded memory from the melancholic whispers,
passed through the wind appearing
in brief s h a d o w s.
Aligned with curtains: to suggest
A non-descriptive beauty, with a
taste of cold air breathed in through the nose;
Handprints of disappearance...
Smoke in the air from a cigarette left burning.

Raindrops of tears reflecting off the windowsill,
Along with the red speckles
of a piercing heart.

July 1967

Risa Denenberg