by Ron Mohring
Programmed to operate without commands, this amazing unit
practically thinks for itself. Sensitive as the delicate, twitchy hands
of a Geiger counter, but more discreet—no blinks, no whistles
nor bells—it efficiently searches and finds the particular stimuli . . .
by Dean Young
How goofy and horrible is life. Just
look into the faces of the lovers
as they near their drastic destinations,
the horses lathered and fagged. . . .
by Kathryn Rhett
Snow advances to the hills surrounding town.
The artist, who has touched lepers, returns.
“The point is not to cure them,
since they come to the clinic to die.”
by Joyce Carol Oates
Then they are threading a needle slowly and purposefully through you. The pain is registered in saw-notched waves in a TV monitor. You have wakened several times, yet each time incompletely. You understand that it was an error to have been born encased in flesh, but you can’t remember whose error it was. . . .
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