issue 3 – poetry
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Tete Jumeau with Lamb
by Paige Eaton I. In Her Eyes Her eyes pin me to the museum wall. Her porcelain skin, made inthe image of consumption, is blemished with two faint clouds of blushand tiny, chaste lips. The hair fastened to her stoneware scalp billowsout in an onyx crown. Within her glass case, the dappled blue andwhite gown…
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God of Five Dollars
by Charles Pineda Here’s five bucksA voice says thatas the crumpled portrait of Lincolndrifts on down, through the sun haze.I don’t need your five dollars.I’m just restin’,and I reach for my bottle.Almost empty bottle.You’re almost outsays the god of five dollarsnothing to say to thatYou’ll need that five bucks and you know it.nothing to say…
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A Lich Goes to Walmart
by Zoë Davis open 24/7consumerism: a new century’s alchemyyellow stickers ½ offSALE NOW ONbosu balls, broccoliindustrial fans, plumspinch ‘em like a cheekripe as sincould be used as a phylacteryget threefor twostrawberries, will writing kitbeen meaning to get round to thatwhere’ve the seasons gone?time to throw another shroud on the coffinswipe clubcard for latest offersmeatoutdoor rearedso…
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Before you know it you’re dead says my Sun
by Gale Acuff -day School teacher, who should know because she’s25 which is closer by figuresto death than my 10 unless of course Ihave an accident and die younger thanshe does so I asked her how old I’ll bewhen I’m dead, exactly, or will I freezeso to speak at the age when I’m croaked, butshe…
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Klimt’s Hope, II
by Amanda Feinberg The body restrained andskulled on swollen stomach.Blue veins slice cheeks and pool shut.We shove green and old, twist out heads.Inside spirals. Gold won’t see beyond blood.She memorizes metalstuck in veins. Wakes tingling.Parchment ruptures, breathes,blossoms up.The women weaved to skirt,whisper prayersand pull. Amanda Feinberg is a fiction and poetry writer from Washington D.C.. She…
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After the Song of Songs
by Diego Calle . . . lilies, lilies. Thy love is as gracious unto me asthe isle of pavement cleaving the car-filled road in twain, buoyingthe weary commuter sallying into day. Thy name is as secret manna ’neath my tongue;I hoard it jealous, squirrel-like, quite insane (’midst the office(spreadsheets, spreadsheets (the base afternoon))). Thy soft voice inside of my…
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Air Raid Sirens
by Michael Roque During a 60-second air raid siren-Pompeii becomes the norm of society.With an eruption,fire flashes across the sky,bringing shopping bags to concrete,crawling traffic to stopand bustling streets to be abandoned for shelters,where whole huddling neighborhoods meet. During a 60-second air raid siren-people left outside lie flat on the ground,while the foundation of the…
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Losing a Most Beautiful Afternoon to Isolation
by Bradford Middleton This will be it for this afternoon as I close thisLid down and pull my curtains shut & isolateWith a dash of Hollywood colour upon thatScreen on the other side of my universe. I’veNo idea what I’ll watch but right now I needEither something cheery, because frankly rightNow there ain’t nothing to…
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Calculus
by Strider Marcus Jones Darwin can’t explain the missing link,and science, did not invent the goalof faith in how we think-but Newton keeps ussane to find the wholegravity and reason for our role-in calculus. science beyond ours does exist,in un-deciphered hieroglyphsand alchemies of metalsmalleable like petalson spaceshipscrashed in Roswell, goneto Area 51. like Dedalus, who…
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Confession
by Treziel Mae Mayores Akin to the monotonous beat of the drum, Beating, banging in my heart. Cacophonous yet soothing, comforting thumps Death is irrelevant, to live means to feel your chest numb. Eventually succumbing to the constricting vines in the lungs. Freedom, fleeting, freaking out! God, why? It is caged in my ribs, buried…