by Michael Braverman
"Our mother," I said. "It's our mother who's dead. Not just your mother. Do you know what I'm talking about?" Jay rocked back on his haunches and stuck his finger in his mouth again and started to hum. "Do you remember our mother, Jay?"

Read My Mind
by Jamie Joy Gatto
The envelope grew larger, its contents bulging, papers spilling from its guts. Apparently it had decided it would no longer talk to Walter, though it began to laugh at him, mocking his weakness.

by Ron Porter
I am not a friend to the day. She makes me wait. I am not strong. To be lost is a kind of leaving. These thoughts I jot down as I sit swooned by a bluesy guitar coming out of a residential brownstone mansion. Upon its stately curb I sit slugging red table wine.

Cow Girl and Pig Heaven
by Jerry G. Erwin
She moved away from me and sat up in bed. I was about to start babbling in defense of myself, when I realized her anger was not directed at me -- thank God. She was looking across the room. I did too. Oh, shit. A pig.

On Track
by Diane Payne
"I've died before. It ain't no big thing." We're ten years old. I've never heard anyone talk like this before.

Dancing With The Streets
by Susannah Indigo
"Yeah, forget about it, Gear," Powell pipes up. "We're going to dance! Don't you know it's impossible to be depressed while dancing with the streets?"

On Baseball

The Truth About Paradise
by Oona Short
Evie turned around. A sticky wind blowing in from right field tousled her hair, dyed not the blonde she had hoped for, but a shade that exactly matched the orange of the home team's uniforms.


Rave On
Summer 2001

Welcome to Slow Trains, where the postcards never stop.

Confessions Of A Compulsive Gambler
by Brian Weiss
Dammit, this isn't a compulsive gambling problem. I'm up against the wall here, financially. True, I did blow more money than I intended over the past few months but, it's not because I'm's because I'm losing my ass.

Bob Dylan: An Appreciation of How He Is Now
by Jeff Beresford-Howe
Every Bob Dylan show is a birthday if you want to be born.

sophistication pales


the rhythm

of slow trains

The Theater of Time
by Brian Peters
I confess, I regarded the time as aspirational, like speed limits and stop signs and changing your oil every 3000 miles. Anytime before nine would be a moral victory, and I can go for days without a moral victory.

Vietnam Journal: Willimantic: 11.10.00
by Marc Levy
How it began I do not recall: round and round, taking turns, each man brought forth the most hilarious, obscene, tasteless jokes I had ever heard.

Send comments to:

The Cover Cascades
and is Purple

by John Eivaz
yeah right / i know jazz i know coltrane / sheets of sound and all that

Selected Poems
by Scott Poole
One night I crept into the house / while it was sleeping / But it woke up. It walked down the street / and tossed me / onto a neighbor's lawn.

Nature or Civilization
by Robert Gibbons
I'm going to force this poem to start with the image of all colors gathering / in the sky erecting the arc of a black rainbow.

Selected Poems
by Janet I. Buck
We're trading tears for Chardonnay / that could be crystal waterfalls

The Clown Trilogy
by Pasquale Capocasa
She took the jar of mustard / from the table, my neighbor did, / and with a strong fluid motion threw it at the clown in the cook's hat

The Lawn Poems
by Gerald Forshey
Struggles with my father / were measured / in the shape of a lawn

Just Right Tonight
by Samantha Cruz
Aretha is saying / she's singing the blues

Selected Poems
by Christopher Locke
Spain for a month, and our days became / complicated as pushing the balcony doors open, the white houses packed in like immaculate skulls.

In Memory
John Lee Hooker
by Phillip Poff

John Lee Hooker I was as big a JLH fan as there was, and there I was having a late breakfast with the Boogie Man.

All material in Slow Trains is copyrighted to the original authors and may not be reproduced without permission. Violators will be prosecuted.

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