Punk Monk Press/Magazine

  --Laura Brant

After the End   Our apple is rotting;   worms are burrowing into the syrupy meat  of the fruit.    I wish I could stop it. But I’m alone in the apartment and my grief ties me to my mattress.    I’ve turned into a winter afternoon,  doomed to crave the honeyed fragrance  of a once ripe apple.    My joint burns to ash in an empty cup.  I can’t bring myself to pick it up and inhale,  to not be an observer.   I wish a bolt of lightning would come my way  and electrify me back into myself.    Our apple is rotting in my kitchen.  I still hold onto hope for the day I get up and toss it into the garbage can.   --Mary Durocher 

  (The Audacious Art Sunflower Series will be an ongoing art feature to express solidarity with the Ukraine. Submit your sunflowers via the usual  guidelines !)  -- Katherine Kavanagh Hoffman

Sweat   There should be a fraternity for all who sweat sweat without recompense for those who say ‘virtue is its own reward’ so is sweat but not the kind that is a camp-follower behind the wagon train of fame and shoe contracts the single mom sweats the man in blue sweats each time a call goes out from Englewood the flagger sweats  when Dispatch calls to cancel her nightshift due to rain sweat bonds us but we don’t feel it because we are busy sweating ‘I sweat, therefore I am’ is what Descartes should have said but he didn’t because he’s not in the brotherhood of pieceworkers of rodbusters of greasemonkeys sharecroppers the journeymen and apprentices in the fellowship of perspiration --Paul Smith

  TC Folkpunk is a guy with "a guitar and notebook full of lyrics."  Inspired by Punk, New Wave, Folk, and bands alighting from various ports, their sound can easily acquiesce to a plugged or acoustic set.  They know all the ins, outs, ups and downs of the music scene.  "I once auditioned for The New Monkees, but luckily didn't get the job."  Listen to Do You Get the Feeling... from the latest album of an impressive discography. Breakfast in Bedlam is available now!  Remember to follow TC on Twitter . 

 (The Audacious Art Sunflower Series will be an ongoing art feature to express solidarity with the Ukraine. Submit your sunflowers via the usual guidelines !)  -- Erin Hoffman

Opossum Pete and Richard’s orange safety vests glowed a blinding light under the scorching sun, and their sweat dripped onto the pavement as they stood in the middle of the right lane on Highway 61, staring at an opossum lying stiffly on its side. Richard handed Pete a dirty shovel.  “Scoop it up,” he said. Everything made Pete queasy. He once fainted at the sight of a moldy loaf of bread. Even so, he decided to take on a thankless summer job as a roadkill cleaner. At least he didn’t have to deal with many people.  Richard nudged Pete. “What are you waiting for?” he asked.  Pete squinted at the creature. “It’s not dead,” he said. “It’s just sleeping.” “Are you sure?” Richard asked as he scratched his beard. He had one of those beards that looked like it would give a chainsaw a hard time.  “Yes,” Pete said. “I just saw it twitch.” Richard walked back toward the shoulder of the road and popped open the driver’s side door of a rusty pickup truck. “Alright, let’s go.” Pete shook his head.