Casaubon and Amparo by Aleathia Drehmer

One day, she plants a great tree

in the image of man, culled

tiny brown seeds taken from cored bounties

leftover, pies baked and eaten warm.

She moves fingers through rich soil,

spayed earth moist and gathering

under nails; places each polished hope, gingerly.

Nestled in the corner, guarded by old

weathered legs, crossed keepers of the rains

and snows and sun-dappled summers.

Starling's golden tritons between blacktop brambles

all gorging till beaks come away

berry-stained and full.

She waters his roots with her purple can,

speaks to him in kind

while trimming long blades with shears,

laughing at herself, to him,

and blushes cheeks into apples.

She drips ruby nectar down his throat

stolen from the hummer's bell feeder

when his branches begin, buds curling out,

and iridescent bodies swirl around her,

new northern lights.

When he comes to her strong and constant,

she lies beneath him, rusty fingers reach

to touch her face, gold tears floating

in the brush of reality.

And she reads him volumes of Poe and Pound,

questions the universe and space, knowing

he won't ever answer her the truth,

but attempt every time.

He is there when seasons turn,

their heart growing, in him and he never

pushes her back or away,

and she will smile,

one day.

Aleathia Drehmer 2008

Aleathia Drehmer is currently trying to hibernate for the winter, but not having much success. She is an active staff member for The Guild of the Outsider Writers. She lives with her darling daughter and crazy cat, Carrot, in rural Painted Post, NY. She has been lucky enough to be published in many online and print journals over the last few years. She is even luckier to have great friends and one damned patient boyfriend.

Mardi Gras Man by Aimee Nelson

Communiques for Xanadu by William D. Freeman

Like Marco Polo,
I traveled here and there,
touching distant shores
and seeking aces in the trees
from Anchorage to Florence,
falling in love in Rome,
while my best friend shouted,
"Hello, Yates,"
perched on the precipice of the parapet
of Blarney, claiming to see Killarney
and reciting 'Kiltartan's Cross'
three-sheets to the wind
while Kitty gazed up,
wiping whiskey from her face,
ruddy and fair,
dreaming of cold nights
of warm debauchery in Munich's streets,
strung out, passed out and stoned
while passers-by muttered, auf Deutsch,
"Why must youth be wasted on the young?"



I graduated from Randolph-Macon College in 2006 with a BA in English Literature. My poems have previously appeared in The Duke's Dispatch, The Stylus and online in LitUp Mag. My freelance work has appeared on
linux.com. In addition to poetry, my interests include travel, photography, blues and jazz guitar and free software advocacy and I
currently work for a web hosting company.

Heathen by A. Razor

I am on the run tonight

from the memories of

past judgment and

failed futures

I cut the lines that

run down the middle

of the road

with wild swerving

maneuvers that are

barely cloaked in

the luminescent

darkness that

shrouds the industrial

part of town

I sense a pervasive

Sense of life’s coil

unwinding

as the road

rolls by in torrents

of blackness lashed with

iridescent lines that promote

some order to my direction

I am tempted to lose control and

drive into walls and objects

but the feelings pass almost as

fast as the lights and the painted stripes

that seem to demarcate my life from my end

and as the all that life and feeling and light and

world trail past me

I feel like I might have lost what was

in pursuit of me and

what I had been in pursuit of

all at once

and I was left to wonder

which I would miss more

and which I would need less

as if the whole thing could be

divided that easily

into separate sides

of reality

when you are

traveling

at this

speed



A. Razor was born in Brooklyn, NY in 1963. He was soon brought out to southern California and raised in areas ranging from Yuma, AZ to Las Vegas, NV to Hollywood, CA to San Bernardino, CA. His early experiences living on the streets of Hollywood and Venice Beach, CA and his later institutional experiences as an inmate and parolee as well as a squatter and homeless rights advocate inform his writing with a perception of a marginal and disposable existence in a society where life is cheap and hope sometimes seems unattainable. However bleak it may seem, there is always an element that speaks to the spark that the writer believes to be the essence of the human experience. He has read his works and been published in many places by many people over the years. A short film, 13 Cuts Of A Razor, will soon be available on the internet and at bookstores. Excerpts of the archived footage can be seen on YouTube.

This Man by David Erlewine

The man sitting across the desk once offered me $20 to run down his block in my underwear. He never paid. Such moments still snake through me. He ends his phone call, holds out his hand without standing up. No blink at my fake name (thank you, chemo!). Before I can answer, he informs me I look like a Lexus guy. It is quite possible this man has never given me another thought. I find myself unable to listen to other things he goes on to say. This man will listen to many, many grievances during his final hours.


David Erlewine has flash fiction and short stories published in a variety of print and web lit journals, including HOBART, IDENTITY THEORY, IN POSSE REVIEW, LITERAL LATTE, PINDELDYBOZ, SLOW TRAINS, SMOKELONG QUARTERLY, and WORD RIOT. Most recently his work has appeared in the anthology "WHAT HAPPENED TO US THESE LAST COUPLE YEARS?"

He lives in Washington, DC, with his wife and two children. When informed that Daddy writes, David's son exclaimed, "And he does dishes!" Thankfully he didn't reference Daddy's unhealthy time spent refreshing Facebook.

Notice, Submissions

We've only been up a little over a week and already we've had an overwhelming number of submissions. I'm pleased to say the majority have been wonderful to read.

LiteralMinded is working on a new site: new format, new writers, forums, and much more. Some of you who have sent submissions but were not published will receive an email very soon informing you when LM will be open for submissions. Many great writers, but the content isn't what I'm looking for.

I started this zine because I read pieces from writers whose work should be visible. If you are a good writer and can give me something different each week, I'll take it.

Although we've had a great response by way of submissions and viewers, I want to clarify what I am looking for when it comes to publishing those pieces.

I like dark pieces. I'm not into vampires, or goth, or the supernatural. When I pick up a book of poetry or a piece of fiction, I want to look inside and see the darkness we all have within us.

I like writers who are so true to themselves and what they know that when I read one of their pieces it's like thumbing open a rib and climbing inside.

You might be a great inspirational writer or technically sound, but I want to showcase work that is gutsy and edgy and poetic or shows me what other writers have been writing around for years. It has to be real and honest.

Thanks for all the submissions, views, and comments. I hope I continue to receive the quality of work I have seen so far.

I Thought We Had A Friend In The Diamond Business by Thomas Sullivan

The jewelry ad glitters and gleams
Sparks of light radiate off an oversized polished diamond
The jumbo rock perches atop a pure silver band
Beckoning the fortunate in an insolvent world.

The pitch emanates from a huge callout bubble
“Make her ex-boyfriend hate you even more”
When did getting people to hate each other become a marketing strategy?
Maybe with Cheney, Iraq, and Halliburton.

I thought we had a friend in the diamond business.

When you see her ex on the street in front of Saks
He won’t look down at your fiancé’s hand and hate you
He’ll smile at you with silent gratitude
For helping him dodge a serious bullet.

Thomas Sullivan writes short essays from his home in the Pacific Northwest. His writing has recently appeared in a number of webzines and magazines, including Eleventh Transmission (Canada), Lit-Up Magazine,The Short Humour Site (UK), and Backhand Stories. Thomas was a finalist at the 2008 Pacific Northwest Writers Association contest for his memoir Life In The Slow Lane, which recounts a hair-raising summer spent teaching driver’s education. Contact the author at tmpsull@hotmail.com.