Anger cloaked him. Draped in folds. You could see it. Smell it. Hear air quivering. Like hornets. Like cymbals. Terrifying. Sensual. On the day the world ended Ike Steel scoffed from his penthouse. Glaring down. Like God. As chaos consumed streets. He was still. But for the ever-trembling rage. Scotch in hand. Despising it all. Then came the wave. Majestic. Roaring. For a moment Love gripped him. A lifetime too late.
Joseph AW Quintela writes. Poems. Stories. On Post-it-notes. Walls. Envelopes. Cocktail napkins. Anything he gets his hands on, really. He writes poetry on Twitter. Some people think that’s cool. But, whatever. His work will (has) appear(ed) in Right Hand Pointing, ABJECTIVE, Blink-Ink, Writer’s Bloc (Rutgers), Niteblade, Ghostlight, Breadcrumb Scabs, Rose & Thorn, and lines written with a razor. Actually, he wrote those lines with a battle axe. But, whatever. He got bored. So he started editing Short, Fast, and Deadly. Which is funny. Because he’s none of these things.
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