TWO POEMS by ZAN DE PARRY

 

Container Day

 

I have a box big enough to make love in.
It touches the ceiling.
It was slapping in the wind in the yard of the neighbor,
The Duchess of Delights.
What is it about this box, about big boxes?
I get in and see. She knocks softly on the door—

I thought they’d mention the lump on your neck at the haircut.
I thought it a much less robust consequence of diet.

She takes me to Lollies—
for being so tired,
for dealing with so much.

I walk into the bathroom.
In the mirror a friend’s face painted like a yellow cat. This is how I does it:
a room for the hole I puts my head in and the hole my head comes out of. Continue reading

THREE POEMS by CHARLES JOSEPH

The Sadness Buried In the Frames of Film Stock

 

She was a silent film starlet
who always wore
too much pancake makeup
and she was a bit flat chested

but aside from that everyone
really loved her eyes
even in sepia they were
a premium shade of dejected blue.

Sadly, she never made it
into the talkies
so she faded into Technicolor
as a Hollywood hooker

when reefer madness was a hoax
to cover A and H bomb tracks
and people didn’t argue over tits or tats
as long they didn’t give you hepatitis. Continue reading

“LETTER TO A CERTAIN ECO-TERRORIST” by CONTENT CREATOR

Hello, I hope this finds you well

I mean besides the whole life in prison thing

Today I planted a tree

While twelve whole football fields worth disappeared in Brazil

I read about sustainable logging

Where they replant as they chop

Never mind that the ecosystems from the canopy to the undergrowth are gone for good

What is sustainable is their bottom line

Continue reading

FIVE POEMS by JACK BIDESE

Vespertine

I become less depressed whenever I’m snowed in.
For some reason, I’m always reminded that the sun
will be back eventually, a thought which usually doesn’t cross my mind
in winter.

Winter is depressing, all the trees lose their green,
I always end January feeling generally worthless. Right now,
though, I feel fine. I try and hibernate through the winter,
sleeping to avoid feeling.

When I was in high school, in winter, I would
sleep, head down on my desk in three
different classes, just to skip forward
the clock towards eventual sun. Continue reading

FOUR POEMS by CARL GERCAR

Self Love

I watched a snake shed its skin once,
they start at the face and
there’s this moment where
the old skin and the new are separating
the snake is neither and both
and the three join only at the eyes
it reminded me of where fire meets the tree
you can see it clinging but you can’t say how
until the eyes deliquesced
and the snake became a whole again Continue reading

THREE POEMS by KRISTIE SHOEMAKER

mount st. helens

 

has your heart ever beat so hard
and with such purpose
as if either begging for life or trying to end it
that it rattles the inside of your rib cage
and then sends small shock waves through layers of skin and bone and flesh and space
to make your mattress rumble
enough to shake the floor boards holding up your precious home
both body and not
enough to awaken the worms and skeletons deep in the dirt
eternal slumber has no place during a panic attack
that makes itself so strong through word of mouth from skeleton jaw to layer of rock
that a small rattle in your rib cage results in the biggest earthquake known to man
but not plant and animal because we are selfish and assume nothing has happened before our eyes were here to witness
the earth cracks open and swallows you whole and the elderly couple across the street sleep through the whole thing
you try to scream and cry and desperately seek comfort
it’s okay to feel afraid of yourself and the world
it’s okay to need help
so long as you stay as quiet as possible Continue reading

THREE POEMS by C PHILLIPS

poor swan poem

swan in a bath of molten lava
at least i laugh
i laugh, at least
swan in a shower of singing rain

swan in a bath of molten lava
her babies fell down from the sky
the sky threw her babies on out
swan sang in her new tub of glass

swan on a brand new singing t.v. show
her scores come back three, three, six
the six came from her mama
swan in a bath of molten lava

Continue reading

THREE POEMS by ARIELLE TIPA

Tarot Cards on a Catholic School Playground

 

We shouldn’t be doing this –

making angel paths to open sewage holes, priest holes

 

laughing at

The Lovers and The Fool, debauching

near a fallen birds’ nest

amidst rain-ruined chalk suns

and the shadows of our skirts

 

bells ring loud as we leave The Hangman behind –

with arms outstretched, can hug an entire continent

Continue reading