My Blue Velvet (1986). by Maya Stahler
Kyle MacLachlan is so hot!
SIN (COMMA) SIN (COMMA) SIN
upstairs in my closet
I’m watching
a movie with sex
in my favorite lacey
safety
shorts I’m
drawing a pentacle
with a fat sharpie
into the hairy grey shag
SIN (COMMA) SIN (COMMA) SIN
upstairs in my closet
I’m watching
a movie with sex
in my favorite lacey
safety
shorts I’m
drawing a pentacle
with a fat sharpie
into the hairy grey shag
Nonet Trio by Caleb Bouchard
Meditation does nothing for my
compost heap cancer thoughts, meanwhile
a tiny white light throbs in
Christmas tree pubes, slow, then
desperate, buttressed
by peace, goodwill
towards men,
New Year’s
reek.
Lockjaw by Lucas Dean Clark (he, him)
I fell from the wind
I landed at the boat docks
I was tangled in a fishnet
To get out I learned to chew
It broke my teeth
klara. by Miley Lu | 卢兆东
i feel hung by the ribs
the sunlight coming down tattered
around the muntins
making golden quadrilaterals on the tiles
the sunlight coming down tattered
around the muntins
making golden quadrilaterals on the tiles
Pit Stop. by Eva Gonzalez
Somewhere on the straight line that takes you from the Redwoods to Los Angeles
there’s a town called Chico; where I’m from and where Adrien insists on stopping
because he does not believe that the odometer is telling the truth when
it says we have sixty miles left before running out of gas.
there’s a town called Chico; where I’m from and where Adrien insists on stopping
because he does not believe that the odometer is telling the truth when
it says we have sixty miles left before running out of gas.
The day I delivered bad news. | I was never a man. | White Rose. | Old age. | Bottled Words. by Vernon Mukumbi
Every morning when the sun cleaned up after the moon,
I slipped into my old white coat with frayed sleeves;
wondering why the wind whipping off the creamy skies,
never washed me away.
I slipped into my old white coat with frayed sleeves;
wondering why the wind whipping off the creamy skies,
never washed me away.
2 Poems by Partha Sarkar
Never will I share
The fragrance of the nightmare.
Meet one another The fragrance of the nightmare.
My dreams I dream
But find no others’ addresses
And take the different routes
Crystals. by Rachael Sevitt
She told me it wards off evil intentions
and bad vibes. I smiled and said ‘how much?’
I found it on a velvet tablecloth
at a Chanukah art fair. Saw myself
in its craggy blackness. Every morning I fight
with the cheap clasp I picked up on Allenby
for 5 Shekel, 25 if you count the costume chain, to adorn
a thing that does nothing.
and bad vibes. I smiled and said ‘how much?’
I found it on a velvet tablecloth
at a Chanukah art fair. Saw myself
in its craggy blackness. Every morning I fight
with the cheap clasp I picked up on Allenby
for 5 Shekel, 25 if you count the costume chain, to adorn
a thing that does nothing.
Hometown shanty. by Kate Cavanaugh (she, her)
You grew up afraid deer would tangle in your high beams. A dark road unraveled to the sound of the radio and took you to town. You’d pass salt piled high for the winter roads and think about climbing those grayscale mountains until Adam said you’d die if you did. Suffocation by salt. Take in the ocean air. A neighbor with no use of his legs built a boat in his driveway. Sail away.
Lavender. | Lost Is the Song of Us. by Sandra Hosking
Dormant lavender emits
Its scent when touched.
Before it blooms midsummer
It tells you who it is.
People do that, too,
If you stand close enough
To sense.
Its scent when touched.
Before it blooms midsummer
It tells you who it is.
People do that, too,
If you stand close enough
To sense.
Ritual on Days Misbehaved. | Glitter City. | Lullaby From Behind. by Matthew Feinstein
Father grips the shopping cart—
his dazed pupils zombie-wander
aisles of paper plates, turkey basters.
Spittle dangles off his lip’s cliff—wiggles
like parental pointer finger. Tinfoil slaps him alert.
his dazed pupils zombie-wander
aisles of paper plates, turkey basters.
Spittle dangles off his lip’s cliff—wiggles
like parental pointer finger. Tinfoil slaps him alert.
A Life Recorded Entirely On CCTV. by Jenkin Benson
there are five muted trumpets hanging
from the ceiling in the hallway of
my apartment two more in the stairwell
they play a frequency which causes the
microplastics within me to quiver
from the ceiling in the hallway of
my apartment two more in the stairwell
they play a frequency which causes the
microplastics within me to quiver
Whiskey Sour by Razmik Kocharian
My homeland is where there are mountains, streams and churches. And there it is accepted that the youngest son lives with his parents. I moved out when I was twenty-three. By Armenian standards, I’m a rebel. According to Moscow’s, apparently, I’m a freeloader. However, my timid rebellion was as successful as a rebellion itself can be.