All Behind Him… by Giorgio Montanari


All Behind Him

“I’m glad it’s spring at last,” he thought walking through the sacristy door and towards the altar. “People drop like flies during the cold months.”

After all these years, the priest still felt uncomfortable celebrating a funeral. The death of a loved one is a serious matter. It seemed to him that the ritual the Church offered was not up to the task, that it could not make the people down in the pews really accept the event.

Luckily this was a simple one: very old woman, painful illness, sick for a long time – everybody must be glad it was over. But it was even better than that. The service had coincided with the Sunday mass, and the church was so full that there was not a trace of the sadness of an old woman’s semi-deserted funeral.

Finally, when he began to talk about the raffle organised by the pupils of the Sunday school, the priest knew it was all behind him.

Suddenly, he felt lighter.

He talked and talked; then, without notice, an aged woman in the first row – there, the daughter of the deceased – she broke down. The priest kept talking as if he had not noticed the woman with her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking, her sighs rising above his voice.

“Not yet… not yet…” the woman was crying. “I’m not ready for her to leave.”


Giorgio Montanari was born in Italy 31 years ago from a family of scientists. In order to avoid the competition of his parents, he got into music from an early age and, more recently, into writing. His first story, ‘The Artist,’ will appear in the upcoming issue of Seizure magazine (December 2012). He currently lives in Sydney, Australia.

Copyright © 2014 by Giorgio Montanari





Choppy Sticky Chopsticks… by Changming Yuan


Choppy Sticky Chopsticks

Yes, yes, yeah, we are simply too barbaric
To enjoy the delicacy of raw snails or oysters

With steel forks and knives

But we are certainly civilized enough to chop
To stick cats, dogs, snakes, frogs
Ants, rats, pupae, anything that moves
With more than one leg, and we love
To eat pig ears, cow tongues, goat penises
Shark fins, sparrow nests, chicken hearts
Duck feet, and all other living corpses inside out
With our mouths open from ear to ear
Chewing plants as noisily as we like
Sucking noodles and soup like pigs
Yeah, we are what we eat, how we eat

When, where and why we eat

What I say, pal, is this simple fact:
Chopping and sticking makes our fingers more adept
Just as chopsticks make us fitter to survive and succeed
More important, they have turned us from carnivores to herbivores
Though still more primitive than you fork users and knife wavers


Copyright © 2012 by Changming Yuan





Love’s Self Deceptions… by B.Z. Niditch


Love’s Self Deceptions

When I journeyed
to Balbec searching
for wisdom
from Marcel Proust
to seek his grounds
for finding signs for love
heightened by the springs
of the countryside
far away other professors
      and student bodies
driven from the Eiffel Tower
cafes and tourist traps
                   to find his secret
of what will remain after us,
it wasn’t affairs
of business or sated times
which will collapse
it was in art
that you believed
and realizing it (like a holograph
                            on puffs of clouds)
was no longer deceived.


B.Z. Niditch has published three times, thus far, on He was also one of several favorites in Issue 4, Heart Splatters Into Significance. If you google him you can find him all over the place. In additon to writing word music, B.Z. Niditch writes plays, fiction, and teaches. He Lives in Brookline Massachusetts.

Copyright © 2013 by B.Z. Niditch





Blips… by Mike Berger



We are becoming electronic
blips; digits, numbers, ciphers.
Forget your idiosyncrasies,
you’re now a number among


A formless number in a
hundred data bases. Boxed
and packaged into neat
little blips; formatted,

condensed, and archived.

Forget your credit card number,
retinal scans, or fingerprints
for identification. They are
too individualized. We are
fast approaching time when
bar codes will be imprinted
on our foreheads.


Mike Berger is an MFA, PhD. He is a retired and writes poetry and short stories full time. He has been writing poetry for less than two years. His works appears in seventy-one journals. He has published two books of short stories and seven poetry chapbooks. He is a member of The Academy of American Poets.

Copyright © 2014 by Mike Berger