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by Peter fortunato

That was when I first heard God.
Back then, it was always unannounced
and could happen anywhere—the graveyard
next to S.U.N.Y was my favorite
—I went to God plenty of times.
When Reagan was reelected, of course,
in that snowstorm: God was really good that night.
It was the big band with hand-drummers
and the Devil-May-Care singers,
three black girls and three white for backup,
and two fat guys playing tambourines.
Forgive me, but that’s how we talked back then.
Nowadays God won’t allow it, everything has to be vetted
and God’s lawyers are serious about this: good thing
I’m still allowed to say how good the music was
and always will be. Everybody knows
about the choirs of angels, and you’ve seen
the paintings of Fra Angelico, how beautiful
their horns and harps of gold and tongues of flame—
but, hey, God has never even used a microphone!
Angels are optional. And today the Street Kids, they have
their own scene with wild dance styles and all.
But God! Holy Geeze! God is still out of sight.

Peter Fortunato
peterfortunato.wordpress.com.

 


 

IN THIS ISSUE–––

• DAVID S. WARREN
Memoiretorial
• MICHAEL CHAPPELL
Remembering Afghanistan.
• GEORGIA E. WARREN
The Woman Who Wore My Hat
• DAVID S. WARREN
The Third Leg
• FRANKLIN CRAWFORD
Dear Diary, 10,000 B.C.
• DANIEL LOVELL
Stain
• DAVID ROLLOW
Glad To Be Unhappy
• RHIAN ELLIS
Intercom
•STEVE KATZ
Caffein
ANNIE CAMPBELL
Cody
•NANCY VIEIRA COUTO
Lily, Mister Bluebird, and the Beginning and End of My Singing Career
• GABRIEL ORGREASE
Stormy Daniels, Full Disclosure

• DYLAN THOMAS Before I Knocked
• MARY GILLILAND Vertical Before Dawn Strips the East
• FRANKLIN CRAWFORD
Burn the Timeline
• CHRIS MACCORMICK Disremembrances of the Russian Twilight
• PETER FORTUNATO
1984

• MEMORY NUTS
OREN PIERCE Memory Nuts

• COVER
R. Saminora, - Paris


Before I Knocked
by Dylan Thomas

Before I knocked and flesh let enter,
With liquid hands tapped on the womb,
I who was as shapeless as the water
That shaped the Jordan near my home
Was brother to Mnetha's daughter
And sister to the fathering worm.

I who was deaf to spring and summer,
Who knew not sun nor moon by name,
Felt thud beneath my flesh's armour,
As yet was in a molten form
The leaden stars, the rainy hammer
Swung by my father from his dome.

(the entire poem)
______________________


by Nancy Vieira Couto

"Nancy, I want to ask you something," my cousin Lily said. By the look on her face, I could tell it was important. "How would you like to be a flower girl at my wedding?" she continued. I didn't know what a flower girl was. I had heard people talking about sweater girls, and I sort of knew what they looked like, but I didn't think I could look like that. I was only four years old. "You would wear a pretty gown," Lily said, as if she were reading my mind, "and you would carry a bouquet of flowers." I was still worried about the sweater, but I liked Lily. So I said OK.
(go to story)
______________________

 

________________________

Caffein

by Steve Katz

I was fifteen when my father died. He’d been sick for seven years already, was rarely home, usually bed-ridden in some dreary hospital in the Bronx, or upstate at some rest home. That was treatment for a heart condition at the time — stay in bed! Had my father been around, my fate might have been different. Without a father to slap me into the future I felt like upcoming life had been placed on the far side of a high slick wall. I couldn’t bust through it, nor could I scale it, but against its unyielding concrete I constantly slammed the enigmas of my adolescence.
(go to story)
_____________________



by David Rollow

The writer sulked. She wasn’t wrong. In the flush of inspiration he’d typed up a report of her most recent visit, while still at the office (he had a day job to support himself), and he had unthinkingly left by the typewriter a second sheet for all to see. He didn’t use a carbon, so to anyone not overwhelmed by curiosity it would have seemed to be only a blank sheet of rough yellow paper. (go to story)
______________________



CODY
by Annie Campbell


I had gained only five pounds during my pregnancy, but walking in that oven-like heat made me feel like I had gained two hundred. My toes were so hot and swollen they looked like red potatoes and felt like they might explode. I could hardly wait for the heat wave to be over and my mysterious baby top reveal itself.
(go to story)

_____________________



The scandal does not seem to be with
Stormy, but one
that is generated
by a host of people
that think there
should be a
scandal.

Review by Gabreal Orgrease
(go to review)
_______________________

POETRY

DYLAN THOMAS
Before I Knocked (go to)

MARY GILLILAND
Vertical Before Dawn
Strips the East (go to)

FRANKLIN CRAWFORD
Burn the Timeline (go to)

CHRIS MACCORMICK Disremembrances of the
Russian Twilight (go to)

PETER FORTUNATO
1984 (go to)

___________________

by Daniel Lovell


I’d already been in bed four hours before I found out what the mattress pad was for. You don’t ask too many questions about hospital beds, in general, and I didn’t ask any about this one. They let me have a laptop, and the hospital has free wifi. My assumption is those things are supposed to make up for the horror I’m sitting on right now, just barely covered by the ratty mattress pad. (go to story)

(You may view the complete print version here)
(Click to Purchase as a print magazine
_______________________

 



The focus of our next Metaphysical Times will be
"Weird Tales" (see full size)

© 2018 The Metaphysical Times Publishing Company - PO Box 44 Aurora, NY 13026 • All rights reserved. For any article re-publication, contact authors directly.

 

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