(Poem) Under a Full Moon by Michael Brautigan

A star and the moon through

bamboo blinds and even

the dogs stir and mumble

from their beds, and I

have to get up and tell

them to quiet, and I

know that this night

shivers and quivers in

the strange full glow

of that moon whose

insanity is slipping through

the splits in my blinds,

and my light fluxes

from bright to dim.

I realize that I want

to leave everything behind

out of pure necessity.

I feel the pull of

shifting currents, and

the lone star collapses

from the sky, and I

realize it’s all in my



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(Meet Mago Contributor) Michael Brautigan

author pic Michael BrautiganMichael Brautigan is a freelance writer, poet, literary scholar, and political activist who lived most of his life in and around the Bay Area.  For over a decade he lived in Berkeley where he enjoyed both studying and participating in community awareness groups and activism before graduating from UC Berkeley with a degree in English Literature.  He has been published in the Milvia Street Journal, Unlikely Stories, Blink-Ink, and Undergroundwriter.  He has also been an active member of online writing groups such as the New Surrealist Institute, World Poets Society, Inter Dada, and Poetry San Francisco.

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(Book excerpt) Heretics: A Love Story by Mary Saracino

Chapter 1

The Dream

Shardana woke with a start. The chilling dirge of a howling wolf rang in her ears. Her heart raced. She rubbed her eyes, but was unable to erase the face of the animal that had haunted her dream. In the murky residue that lingered from her night vision, Shardana could still feel the anger that radiated from the wolf’s bloody stare. His fangs, sharp as the blade of a shepherd’s knife, glinted in the moonlight that bathed the deck of the sea-going vessel. His thick coat bristled along the bony ridge of his spine as he prowled the squeaking wooden planks.

HereticsFCwebShardana stared into the darkness of her bedroom, allowing the blackness to calm her. “Dea Madre!” she called out. She kicked off her blankets and reached across the mattress to where her husband Basilio should have been—and would have been—had he not spent the night at his shepherd’s hut outside the village on this early February night, tending his herd of birthing ewes.

Sweat bathed Shardana’s brow, though she didn’t wipe away the dampness. She grabbed a shawl to chase away the cold before walking to the kitchen to boil some water to make a medicinal remedy to calm her mind.

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(Art poem) Placenta Encapsulation by Paula Lietz

gaia paula

Gaia by Paula Lietz

lying within earth’s immortal womb

moist muscle pulsating

I laboured to be smaller

she implored me to be mightier


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