FOUR POEMS by ANDREW PURCELL

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was in the winter of my twenty-eighth year and I was lost
somewhere on the isle of misunderstood wines.

The first time we met I thought almost nothing of it
but the second I remember thinking: good times in dark days.

She became a red cloud blowing through my brain,
a page from a letter in a dream, fading,
her alphabet running in circles of subtle runes. Continue reading

“SOON-TO-BE INNOCENT FUN” by ETHAN GATHY

“If repression has indeed been the fundamental link between power, knowledge, and sexuality since the classical age, it stands to reason that we will not be able to free ourselves from it except at a considerable cost.”

-Michel Foucault, the History of Sexuality

Tim mustered a weak – C-c’mon, fuck me as he was penetrated from behind. The leading role didn’t seem to notice but continued to do his job. The cameraman sidled to get a view of Tim’s face in pleasure only to get a less-than-erotic grimace. Tim’s teeth clenched as he tried to just keep his mind on the paycheck he would receive. Every time still felt like it was unending, the pain that shot through him with each thrust and the shame that never wavered. He was as firmly entrenched within the superstructure of the socius as he had ever been and now it was further alienating him from his labor and lifestyle itself. Continue reading

“Blue Ring of Radiation” by Shane Jones

Louis Slotin has decided to make a run for it and has made it pretty far until he feels sick again, kneeling at a busy intersection where everyone notices him but doesn’t place a hand on him. He’s able to make it another block or two before he is forced by his body to stop. The further he gets from the Center the more the radiation poisoning comes back, the image of a clear vile larger than the size of his chest is inside his chest, a green liquid drip for each step he takes. Continue reading

five poems by cowboy roland

art history

1.
michelangelo sometimes felt self conscious while carving or drawing dicks
he would pretend to be working on another part of the art if he heard someone
often he wasn’t fast enough or too focused
the pope would say “mike, you’ve been working on that dick for at least 8 days now
what do you say we move on? maybe the shoulders could use some work?” Continue reading

THREE POEMS by KEN TAYLOR

cloud in the shape of a revenant

her credit may not cover what she spent in this habitation where divisions have to do with seeking freight again & again providing a version of what yoking might follow what seems to be set-widths of carefully bending her compass which from some degrees are wrecks of the childhood home sending her wanting a profile not flourished by semaphore by one too many face-saving textures to be read on approach in savoring the future flouncing like a sad dance taking the kind of time in yielding a strange place from which to observe a landscape Continue reading