Dashboard Horus: A Bird's Eye View of the Universe

  L. Ward Abel’s work has appeared in hundreds of journals (Rattle, Versal, The Reader, Worcester Review, Main Street Rag, others), including a recent nomination for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and he is the author of three full collections and ten chapbooks of poetry, including his latest collection, The Width of Here (Silver Bow, 2021).  He is a reformed lawyer, he writes and plays music (Abel and Rawls), and he teaches literature. Abel resides in rural Georgia.  Cartographer  I.  On the walls,  door frame to sill to  window to corner and then  again, are topo maps their smallish   lines that somehow follow shades   blended into bold edges long and   bordered with green-brown lighter   to night-like loud   whispering.  II.  I think I’m obsessed   when it comes to those maps,  resolved but not resigned   to letter forms, some with   Latin roots draping over steps,   drop-offs onto even wider plains  and smaller clustered right-angled   signs of intent.  III.  If I’ve missed

A dual citizen of Ireland and the states, Greg Patrick is an Irish Armenian traveler poet and the son of a Navy man. Greg spent his youth in the South Pacific and Europe and currently resides in Galway, Krakow, and sometimes the states. He now writes and travels.   The idol-adorned prow of the patron demigod of the sea seemed to ward off the rain from the massing clouds, and the vessel seemed like an isolated and diminutive champion confronting a colossus. He allowed himself a brief moment of solace but it was a dulcet painful brevity, like a kiss on eve of battle. The elusive peace or contentment that the mariner-haunted could not endure. For the gaze would look from reunited lover back to the sea with a guilty yearning to the horizon, as if back to the sight of an old passing love by in a crowd, or a blue-gowned belle beyond one’s reach but not one’s dreams. The Polynesian praise singer reflected that the dolphins, in like beams of submerged blue flame, might as well be ancestral or

Ann Tweedy's first full-length book, The Body's Alphabet , was published by Headmistress Press in 2016. It earned a Bisexual Book Award in Poetry and was also a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award and for a Golden Crown Literary Society Award. Ann also has published three chapbooks, Beleaguered Oases, White Out , and A Registry of Survival . Her poems have appeared in R attle, Literary Mama, Clackamas Literary Review, Naugatuck River Review , and many other places, and she has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes and two Best of the NetAwards. A law professor by day, Ann has devoted her career to serving Native Tribes. She currently teaches at University of South Dakota Knudson School of Law. Read more about her at www.anntweedy.com. Axis I remember how it was to be strung along a highway that held all my aspirations– for fifteen years rooted at different points in that zooming, crawling, 1,400-mile frenzy, always within an easy drive to the magnificent, unthinkable coast.