by DAH 1. … from now on, a reshuffling of diction,word-acrobatics, perspectives gleaming withnew realities: somebody built an orange treeagainst the other things around it, to feaston boiled eggs in the cold hand of a plate,the convulsions of the world can only goso far: it’s a matter of course … … regression is a retelling of history, mind-formsthat are slipping: Read More
Tag: poetry
the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach
by Haley Morgan McKinnon my partner makes me my favorite meal and eats plain noodles by the handful as he goeshe tells me if you ever bring a glass cutting board into my house I will break up with youbut he uses it anyway and as he chops garlic into fineness he is focused and he makesthe same face as Read More
Sea gods self-soothe
by Ankh Spice Tangaroa’s belly flattens, swellsinto the bright blade. Light honed by a creeping moonis the sharpest of all light, slipped glass ruptures him – quickening mercurybeads through cold ink. At his edges, silvered waves break, and breakagain – this is the nature of waves – but to shush, shush yourself calm, knowingthe shattering will go on until even Read More
Why Don’t You Do Something About That Pain
by James Diaz I’m the kind of secret no one knew how to keeppain pine and deep, I was wintry redlotto scratch off’s walkin’ along the highway wishin’ I knew what life on the other sideevery kind of other side – was really like then I drifted in my head for years and yearswent to war with voices that were mine mine mine took Read More
Don’t Talk to Me or My Bed Ever Again
by Rachel Tanner Sunday is the lord’s day and the lordis my bed. I stay here, wrapmyself up, stretch my limbs outlike a starfish. There is no one else hereto take up room that is rightfully mine.Mine mine mine mine mine. My bed is a table. It’s a desk. It hascrumbs in it from who-knows-whenand I don’t give a fuck. I Read More
Good Mourning
by Ashley Sapp hello mo(u)rning, your cold dew leaves a trail upon my skin, and I bear witness to how your weight waits to be seen by dawn, warmed by it, lightened by it, even consumed by it; new day, I am told, is a new beginning, but bereavement is a cycle – a Read More
child
by Iolana Paedelt cut me with your liesandlet me bleed out,drown in red blood-as i sinkdown,deeper into the dark abyss,still thinking that it’s love,when all you want issee me chokeon your darkness,so you can breathe. i asked you to stay.i said“you don’t have to leave.”you gave me all your words,your promises,and did it anyway.now i don’t know what is more Read More
It’s Prom Season in the Wasteland
by Justin Karcher A really big crowis chasing an ice cream truckdown a crusty alleywhere high school studentsare chilling sugar on their tonguesand talking about how their parentswere murdered by breathalyzers high school studentsdrinking too much tap waterpissing in their ancestors’coffee cupsMercury is in retrograde boys and girls in Americacarving search enginesinto cop car tireshoping justice looks for themwhen they Read More
What if Narcissus
by Hannah Storm What if Narcissus had been a father and not a lover What if Echo had been your child and not your vaunted lover,would you still have been doomed to sit by that pond,reflect your wrongs, your own face, or would you only see your Mini-me? Sweet child of yours, when God mademan in his own image, he Read More
Group therapy for clever crabs
by Ankh Spice There were no windows and we spoke of home as therapy – those who had tongues not yet unhooked by their dosage Mrs Jesus sang, predictably– Ave, ave, the roasting flare of the sacred heart the warmest hearth – her rosarychattering DT-teeth in time with our rolling eyes Quiet Joni said nothing, but beyond her starved-skull-smile a Read More