Today I Will Buy a New Sweater
Kylie Gordon
Cold from the morning ice that casts over the sky,
with six dollars in my pocket I walk through the aisles;
shivering.
Shades of boredom, all grays and beige.
Nothing caught my eye.
A sad clown stands on the corner of
Fox and Grove.
Painted in tones of tears;
playing his fiddle for traveling fares.
I notice his bulbous shoes worn with rips and tears.
I drop my cash into his patchwork sack,
walking back along the criss-crossed cracked path;
shivering.
Bones ache from brittle winds that blow through skin.
Tomorrow I will shop for a new sweater.
with six dollars in my pocket I walk through the aisles;
shivering.
Shades of boredom, all grays and beige.
Nothing caught my eye.
A sad clown stands on the corner of
Fox and Grove.
Painted in tones of tears;
playing his fiddle for traveling fares.
I notice his bulbous shoes worn with rips and tears.
I drop my cash into his patchwork sack,
walking back along the criss-crossed cracked path;
shivering.
Bones ache from brittle winds that blow through skin.
Tomorrow I will shop for a new sweater.
Life Raft
Andy Matthews
Your closeness and being
Are like needed breaths
Between my stutterin g
w ord s
I glow in your stability
And shrink in your absence
Please
Don’t
Leave
Me
Are like needed breaths
Between my stutterin g
w ord s
I glow in your stability
And shrink in your absence
Please
Don’t
Leave
Me
The Most Exquisite Form of Self Destruction
Nori Dawson
There is no excuse for your behavior
Other than
you are being mean.
A lily grows
In an abandoned building
Obsession grows in vacant space
I know I don’t mean anything
To you; but I pray
For you every night
And the issue wasn’t you
Not coming back
the issue was how you softly shut
the front door
while I was in the shower
Other than
you are being mean.
A lily grows
In an abandoned building
Obsession grows in vacant space
I know I don’t mean anything
To you; but I pray
For you every night
And the issue wasn’t you
Not coming back
the issue was how you softly shut
the front door
while I was in the shower
Untitled
Antonio Ford
I am a cloud in the sky
Who admires your glow from a distance.
Every time that we cross paths
The intensity of your light increases
Causing me to melt away like an ice cube on a hot summer's day.
Butterflies begin to form in my stomach
While the words in my brain begin to fly away
Leaving me speechless.
Who admires your glow from a distance.
Every time that we cross paths
The intensity of your light increases
Causing me to melt away like an ice cube on a hot summer's day.
Butterflies begin to form in my stomach
While the words in my brain begin to fly away
Leaving me speechless.
Dog-Eyed View
Claudia Reynolds
I try to see the word
in vibrant colors that reach the end of the rainbow;
saturating my ceiling.
But I see left and right, north and south.
The compass draws squares with sure corners and thick borders.
The colors that come easily to me are black, white, and
red.
All shades of red:
garnet, scarlet, vermillion,
crimson.
I can see blood-red like a hound sniffing for game.
Through the mud on all fours, hunting for that smell. Chasing rewards of a “good girl” or a
thrown duck bone.
Finding that thick-ironed substance to sustain me just a little longer.
To drink it with my hands, feel it splatter in my lap.
To rub it in my skin.
Just to rub it into others,
to feel anything
at the expense of everything.
But that was before my father was surprised
at the golden woman I’m becoming
and I realized I was nothing like my mother.
Now the blood I need is within my own skin.
I trace the bruises, marks, and scars
delicately.
Remembering my story and the writings on the walls
of my mind, the voices that aren’t mine
and the one that is.
Deciphering myself daily
chaotically beautiful in a
what is even going on
kind of way
Now I am a rainbow chaser. Running with the thunder,
watching where light strikes down,
waiting for the storm to fizzle.
I wait.
The cascade of colors begin to faintly paint the sky.
The muddled clouds part to reveal the pale casting.
But that is all I need.
It is enough to be looking to the sky
instead of in the woods.
To cry instead of howl.
I am no dog.
Maybe I am just learning
to see birds fly instead of getting pinned down.
in vibrant colors that reach the end of the rainbow;
saturating my ceiling.
But I see left and right, north and south.
The compass draws squares with sure corners and thick borders.
The colors that come easily to me are black, white, and
red.
All shades of red:
garnet, scarlet, vermillion,
crimson.
I can see blood-red like a hound sniffing for game.
Through the mud on all fours, hunting for that smell. Chasing rewards of a “good girl” or a
thrown duck bone.
Finding that thick-ironed substance to sustain me just a little longer.
To drink it with my hands, feel it splatter in my lap.
To rub it in my skin.
Just to rub it into others,
to feel anything
at the expense of everything.
But that was before my father was surprised
at the golden woman I’m becoming
and I realized I was nothing like my mother.
Now the blood I need is within my own skin.
I trace the bruises, marks, and scars
delicately.
Remembering my story and the writings on the walls
of my mind, the voices that aren’t mine
and the one that is.
Deciphering myself daily
chaotically beautiful in a
what is even going on
kind of way
Now I am a rainbow chaser. Running with the thunder,
watching where light strikes down,
waiting for the storm to fizzle.
I wait.
The cascade of colors begin to faintly paint the sky.
The muddled clouds part to reveal the pale casting.
But that is all I need.
It is enough to be looking to the sky
instead of in the woods.
To cry instead of howl.
I am no dog.
Maybe I am just learning
to see birds fly instead of getting pinned down.
After Clockout
Josh Scott Wilson
In our three bedroom apartment, the box air conditioner drones the same
humming silence as from God after a martyr’s execution.
She sits where the light falls slanted through the drapes and curls through
with cigarette smoke. She tells me,
“Just one of those days,” in a voice that closes
like a wound. I take her hand, as if that could ever be
enough, though she smiles only to give me heart.
I want to tell her of Joan D’arc with flames
climbing toward her up the stake, or Perpetua and Felicity
fed to lions for proclaiming
their faith against the world. Women whose pain God never answered.
Our hands temple together into a pipe organ
made from bone. I want to tell her of deep sea fish
who through incandescent scales their phosphorescent vitals
articulate unfathomable dark.
humming silence as from God after a martyr’s execution.
She sits where the light falls slanted through the drapes and curls through
with cigarette smoke. She tells me,
“Just one of those days,” in a voice that closes
like a wound. I take her hand, as if that could ever be
enough, though she smiles only to give me heart.
I want to tell her of Joan D’arc with flames
climbing toward her up the stake, or Perpetua and Felicity
fed to lions for proclaiming
their faith against the world. Women whose pain God never answered.
Our hands temple together into a pipe organ
made from bone. I want to tell her of deep sea fish
who through incandescent scales their phosphorescent vitals
articulate unfathomable dark.
Flightless
Kylie Gordon
His eyes were fireflies
If the fireflies wings got ripped off by God
The light dims, the fluttering beat dies, and
creates a thick smoke that fills the room in
my nose and leaves a charred taste on my
tongue, a dried out pink muscle that scratches
the back of my throat.
I can hear the itch climbing back up
but somewhere in Toronto, Jeff Goldblum is
undergoing a transformation of his own admission
he ripped the wings right off, just as mentioned.
Nuns hit hands on desks and the schoolgirls
knew not to flinch, oh surely they had a couple of
couches, but chose to sleep on the loveseats,
crafted from the hands of divorces, that made
the seats too unstable to sit.
All this uncomfort he had had had had no effect
on the outcome of his life.
His dark cloud of obis
as cheerful as life long inmates,
that I helped during a prison break.
And Kiwi doesn't offer her help often,
but she knew in twenty years or so prisoner 464
will be called upon by the Lord to come home,
like a fragile boulder pushed off a dull cliff.
That rock will break, not from the freefall, but from
ants eating it away.
le formiche sono piccoli dei
The insects devour their meal, washing it down
with cold ale and renounce the fireflies aliment
of having no wings.
If the fireflies wings got ripped off by God
The light dims, the fluttering beat dies, and
creates a thick smoke that fills the room in
my nose and leaves a charred taste on my
tongue, a dried out pink muscle that scratches
the back of my throat.
I can hear the itch climbing back up
but somewhere in Toronto, Jeff Goldblum is
undergoing a transformation of his own admission
he ripped the wings right off, just as mentioned.
Nuns hit hands on desks and the schoolgirls
knew not to flinch, oh surely they had a couple of
couches, but chose to sleep on the loveseats,
crafted from the hands of divorces, that made
the seats too unstable to sit.
All this uncomfort he had had had had no effect
on the outcome of his life.
His dark cloud of obis
as cheerful as life long inmates,
that I helped during a prison break.
And Kiwi doesn't offer her help often,
but she knew in twenty years or so prisoner 464
will be called upon by the Lord to come home,
like a fragile boulder pushed off a dull cliff.
That rock will break, not from the freefall, but from
ants eating it away.
le formiche sono piccoli dei
The insects devour their meal, washing it down
with cold ale and renounce the fireflies aliment
of having no wings.
Andrew
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with accompanying artwork:
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Andrew
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White man delivered me into this world
White man gave me a citizen number White man took the ball from me and gave it to a little white girl White man told me I was “good enough” to get an education White man denied me of that job because my demeanor scared him White man told me he would never bring a Black Girl home White man called me a bitch White man cut my words off and dominated the conversation with his own White man shared his fantasies of giving me a golden shower White man took away my rights of killing this baby White man answered that white woman’s call and locked me up for disruption White man demanded me to be here on time White man used my body as an experiment White man put chains around my ankles, neck, and wrists... I broke those chains and made him shut the fuck up. |
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A Road Trip with Ma
Antonio Ford
I enjoyed the view of the world
From inside of my mother's car.
She never said where we were going
Only that it wouldn't be too far.
It was a very nice day
And the sun was watching over us all.
As the trip progressed
The more I began to fall.
I ended up in a strange place
Lots of animals around
There was a guy smoking a pipe
And he never made a sound.
He went off into the distance
Carrying on with his day
But something didn't seem right
The sky was now grey.
From inside of my mother's car.
She never said where we were going
Only that it wouldn't be too far.
It was a very nice day
And the sun was watching over us all.
As the trip progressed
The more I began to fall.
I ended up in a strange place
Lots of animals around
There was a guy smoking a pipe
And he never made a sound.
He went off into the distance
Carrying on with his day
But something didn't seem right
The sky was now grey.
One-Night Engagement
Nori Dawson
I’ve spent more time on my knees
Outside of the church
than I ever did in it
With men who are half of what I am
But more than my father will ever be
My father
who wanted sons
But got two daughters
daughters who surpass the men
that won’t call back
the next day
Or the day after
but swear I am the love of their life
Until I can’t spend the night
And their love is a one-night engagement
And nothing more
Because it’s hard to love a stranger
Outside of the church
than I ever did in it
With men who are half of what I am
But more than my father will ever be
My father
who wanted sons
But got two daughters
daughters who surpass the men
that won’t call back
the next day
Or the day after
but swear I am the love of their life
Until I can’t spend the night
And their love is a one-night engagement
And nothing more
Because it’s hard to love a stranger
Digital Versatile Disc
Miranda Bell
In the plastic keep case,
manufactured polypropylene
holds you safe, secure
where you were always meant to be.
As you tilt in the light,
iridescence gleams.
More than silver alloy,
purple blue and green
dance across your surface,
revealed only by movement.
With time,
Everything degrades.
Memories and stories
made unreadable.
You’ve been used too many times.
Branching bolts of lighting
flash through flesh, punishment
for doing what was asked of you.
Crammed into disc trays,
played, paused
rewound and ejected.
You were meant to be ageless,
a permanent storage solution.
But damaged and replaced,
you became obsolete.
Now you sit on a shelf,
or maybe in a box.
Forgotten and collecting dust.
When I lift you up,
thumb and forefinger at your edge,
I stare back at myself, distorted,
face marred by the scratches.
manufactured polypropylene
holds you safe, secure
where you were always meant to be.
As you tilt in the light,
iridescence gleams.
More than silver alloy,
purple blue and green
dance across your surface,
revealed only by movement.
With time,
Everything degrades.
Memories and stories
made unreadable.
You’ve been used too many times.
Branching bolts of lighting
flash through flesh, punishment
for doing what was asked of you.
Crammed into disc trays,
played, paused
rewound and ejected.
You were meant to be ageless,
a permanent storage solution.
But damaged and replaced,
you became obsolete.
Now you sit on a shelf,
or maybe in a box.
Forgotten and collecting dust.
When I lift you up,
thumb and forefinger at your edge,
I stare back at myself, distorted,
face marred by the scratches.
Insert Photo Here
Andy Matthews
I feel a metallic zing from your touch,
The spaces between the electrons
Barely separating our contact.
The minuscule vibrations in the atmosphere--
Tapes upon tapes burned into the hard-drive of my center
Processed.
Filtered.
Enhanced.
Replayed.
That moment lingering within me longer than it should, clogging my
memory.
The cosmos open up and engulf me, and I am restrained by wires of
reflected light.
They dig into my flesh,
Capillaries enflamed
Like
Broken circuits.
(Burnin g
Ev3ry wher e)
I hit erase three times.
Load it up.
Start Again.
Your unintentional virus infecting me,
A sickly bug causing glitches between the folds of my brain--
Gaps of data replaced with malware,
A never ending plague of ones and zeroes.
I swallow the infection.
Pushing it down into the core of me
Deep along the ridges of my spine,
And empty the trash can.
I reboot, and am whole again.
The spaces between the electrons
Barely separating our contact.
The minuscule vibrations in the atmosphere--
Tapes upon tapes burned into the hard-drive of my center
Processed.
Filtered.
Enhanced.
Replayed.
That moment lingering within me longer than it should, clogging my
memory.
The cosmos open up and engulf me, and I am restrained by wires of
reflected light.
They dig into my flesh,
Capillaries enflamed
Like
Broken circuits.
(Burnin g
Ev3ry wher e)
I hit erase three times.
Load it up.
Start Again.
Your unintentional virus infecting me,
A sickly bug causing glitches between the folds of my brain--
Gaps of data replaced with malware,
A never ending plague of ones and zeroes.
I swallow the infection.
Pushing it down into the core of me
Deep along the ridges of my spine,
And empty the trash can.
I reboot, and am whole again.
Voyager
Miranda Bell
nothingness expands in all directions
distant stars like pinpricks
in an ocean of blackness
soundless, a spacecraft passes
antennae reaching, grasping
scraping the edges of the milky way
below its lunar-white satellite
a golden disc, twelve inches across
adorns the speeding probe
what remains of humanity
ten billion miles from home?
jagged inscriptions across metal
an interstellar time capsule
half a century removed
between copper grooves
voices call out to the void
lonely in the far reaches of space
as our blue dot grows paler
voyager sails into the future
hoping someone, someday will listen
three hundred years to leave the solar system
forty thousand to reach another star
destined to eternally wander the galaxy
until all that’s left of us
is dust
distant stars like pinpricks
in an ocean of blackness
soundless, a spacecraft passes
antennae reaching, grasping
scraping the edges of the milky way
below its lunar-white satellite
a golden disc, twelve inches across
adorns the speeding probe
what remains of humanity
ten billion miles from home?
jagged inscriptions across metal
an interstellar time capsule
half a century removed
between copper grooves
voices call out to the void
lonely in the far reaches of space
as our blue dot grows paler
voyager sails into the future
hoping someone, someday will listen
three hundred years to leave the solar system
forty thousand to reach another star
destined to eternally wander the galaxy
until all that’s left of us
is dust