Lipstick
︎︎︎ Sivan Lavie
︎ September 27, 2022
on the roof of my mouth, lipstick smack in the middle of my heart
Scarlet, rouge,
Amber, cherry
Jam
Crimson
Ruby.
Take that big fat lip — stick and
Smear it again and again and again on my chest across my heart
Rub my teeth in deep pinks of tulips,
A big fiery ball
Of your
Berry scented lipstick,
So i can know I’m alive,
Reddened saddened
Fiery
Ocre
Merlot
Burgundy
Terracotta
Teracotta
Teracotta
terracotta
Lipstick.
Take my hand in yours,
Orbs of warmth
Rub my body
Rub my body
Rub my body in
Kisses
Hugs
Bonfires
Love
Love love
Passion
Passion
Passion
Lipstick.
Scarlet, rouge,
Amber, cherry
Jam
Crimson
Ruby.
Take that big fat lip — stick and
Smear it again and again and again on my chest across my heart
Rub my teeth in deep pinks of tulips,
A big fiery ball
Of your
Berry scented lipstick,
So i can know I’m alive,
Reddened saddened
Fiery
Ocre
Merlot
Burgundy
Terracotta
Teracotta
Teracotta
terracotta
Lipstick.
Take my hand in yours,
Orbs of warmth
Rub my body
Rub my body
Rub my body in
Kisses
Hugs
Bonfires
Love
Love love
Passion
Passion
Passion
Lipstick.
Haunted Autumn
︎︎︎ Sua Yoo
︎ September 24, 2022
I thought I fell in love with a magician
But they turned out to be a big, fat boiling frog
How salacious! I thought,
Wandering through the hall of scaly oats
That had sprung up overnight, stitching
The creaking patchwork floorboards
Bloated with mildew brush strokes
Children run through the corridor, a fireplace
Roars at secretarial logs burning with shame
But then a turnkey rasps and an ember spit
from a gasp
Swallows a panel dripping with wood gore
How bare! they chimed,
Rattling a baby on their knee
The haunted musk of a ripe pumpkin husk
Zips around the courtyard with manic savagery
The baby suckles a torn lace sleeve
A beetle, upturned, lies dying in the carpet weave
And at the magic hour, a rabbit returns to its
sheath
But they turned out to be a big, fat boiling frog
How salacious! I thought,
Wandering through the hall of scaly oats
That had sprung up overnight, stitching
The creaking patchwork floorboards
Bloated with mildew brush strokes
Children run through the corridor, a fireplace
Roars at secretarial logs burning with shame
But then a turnkey rasps and an ember spit
from a gasp
Swallows a panel dripping with wood gore
How bare! they chimed,
Rattling a baby on their knee
The haunted musk of a ripe pumpkin husk
Zips around the courtyard with manic savagery
The baby suckles a torn lace sleeve
A beetle, upturned, lies dying in the carpet weave
And at the magic hour, a rabbit returns to its
sheath
Sua Yoo is an aspiring actor, pianist, and MMA fighter. Sua most recently co-established PURPOSE REPAIR SHOP LLC, where collective dreams are repaired and/or produced.
Also by Sua: Full Frontal Jackrabbit, Here we are on the cusp, I’m bathed in June, Love is long overdue
Advice for Winter
︎︎︎ Sophia Georghiou
︎ September 22, 2022
Buy a pair of knee-high leathers,
a long coat that ties around the waist.
Tighter. Be the woman in the TV show,
you know the one he said you remind him of.
When he calls after a week, sound like you’re snowed in,
voice distant so he thinks you’ve finally done something radical,
like leave the island.
You did say you could spend a year in Italy,
waitressing. Those dreams you learnt to blot,
fold neatly inside a napkin now.
Keep your head down on trains, it’s cuffing season
and there’s already a chain around your neck.
You may as well run with it.
Pub loos are dangerous places to be in.
His hard face behind you in the mirror,
over the split sink.
a long coat that ties around the waist.
Tighter. Be the woman in the TV show,
you know the one he said you remind him of.
When he calls after a week, sound like you’re snowed in,
voice distant so he thinks you’ve finally done something radical,
like leave the island.
You did say you could spend a year in Italy,
waitressing. Those dreams you learnt to blot,
fold neatly inside a napkin now.
Keep your head down on trains, it’s cuffing season
and there’s already a chain around your neck.
You may as well run with it.
Pub loos are dangerous places to be in.
His hard face behind you in the mirror,
over the split sink.
Otherwise
︎︎︎ Shelby Hartness
︎ September 21, 2022
I think
I think
I think
I believe
otherwise
I think
I think
I believe
otherwise
Shelby Hartness is a writer and poet living in Half Moon Bay, California. Her work has appeared in The Skirt Chronicles, Silver Operation, passerby, WONDER, Des pair quarterly, and D Magazine, among others. shelbyhartness.com
Also by Shelby: My Girl Is a Lawyer
The City
︎︎︎ Brilant Pireva
︎ September 17, 2022
There's a secret city
Underneath
The mountains over there.
Inside it lives a king
Who never stands
But sits
Forever on
The throne
Within this lair.
Above,
The men
That live on land
Are short in memory,
And though they
Don't know it,
They're all at his command,
He rules with perfect treachery.
Tubes of gold connect into his body,
Into each and every vein.
Cocaine, morphine,
Sugar, serotonin,
Blood, and dopamine.
Every single compound that
Can exist
Is mixed
Perfectly
And pumps forever through him.
The secret city
Beneath the mountains
Is really a machine.
It's made of only
Gold and diamond
And it runs on heat and steam.
All parts move in harmony,
There is no flaw or waste and
Everything is always clean.
To make and serve the potion,
This is the function of the machine.
The city pumps the perfect potion
Always through his veins.
He sees and feels and knows it all,
The potion never wanes.
He sees with ease inside of you
And knows your deepest pain.
There is no hiding from his look,
All subterfuge is done in vain.
He knows that your life's path is one
That's dictated by shame.
He lives forever
And never stands
But sits
And hides from us his name.
Underneath
The mountains over there.
Inside it lives a king
Who never stands
But sits
Forever on
The throne
Within this lair.
Above,
The men
That live on land
Are short in memory,
And though they
Don't know it,
They're all at his command,
He rules with perfect treachery.
Tubes of gold connect into his body,
Into each and every vein.
Cocaine, morphine,
Sugar, serotonin,
Blood, and dopamine.
Every single compound that
Can exist
Is mixed
Perfectly
And pumps forever through him.
The secret city
Beneath the mountains
Is really a machine.
It's made of only
Gold and diamond
And it runs on heat and steam.
All parts move in harmony,
There is no flaw or waste and
Everything is always clean.
To make and serve the potion,
This is the function of the machine.
The city pumps the perfect potion
Always through his veins.
He sees and feels and knows it all,
The potion never wanes.
He sees with ease inside of you
And knows your deepest pain.
There is no hiding from his look,
All subterfuge is done in vain.
He knows that your life's path is one
That's dictated by shame.
He lives forever
And never stands
But sits
And hides from us his name.