DANCE
Cole Solinger
︎ NOV 30, 2021
all day breakfast
rotten man’s gut
desktop porn virus
shaver corruption
what hasn’t become sport
rain
interruption
a car’s passing headlights
melody
its spectral pull
the energy returned
the exhausted crown
its cloth bathing
bell making
sophisticated love
rotten man’s gut
desktop porn virus
shaver corruption
what hasn’t become sport
rain
interruption
a car’s passing headlights
melody
its spectral pull
the energy returned
the exhausted crown
its cloth bathing
bell making
sophisticated love
The Snakes Came Back
Lora Mathis
︎ NOV 29, 2021
Consider a spotlight Point it to the grass
There, where the two snakes are winding together
Their bodies luminous like thread stitched in and out
Their scales looping into one song
The grass flush with cold night
The sparks picking up under the moonlight
Cut!
Scene 1: Two women across a plastic table smashed clean
Slipping off jealousy and smiling politely
One orders tofu the other says I too walked through the night
and did not return
Scene 2:
I wear her face under grim overhead light
She has hers on too — brighter
Together we tell the story of a star
Cut!
While standing in your dad’s kitchen waiting for the kettle to scream
I see two snakes weaving through the dry grass
Their scales winding together in the lush moonlight
Bits of sparks shaving off their scales
Cut!
Cut!
Cut!
cut !
Cut!
Cut!
Cut!
The snakes came back last night
I tried to feed them street names, corner houses
They slid through the grass, refusing to look at me
:
To drive in the direction of the past
To listen to the kettle calling and hear only hissing
There, where the two snakes are winding together
Their bodies luminous like thread stitched in and out
Their scales looping into one song
The grass flush with cold night
The sparks picking up under the moonlight
Cut!
Scene 1: Two women across a plastic table smashed clean
Slipping off jealousy and smiling politely
One orders tofu the other says I too walked through the night
and did not return
Scene 2:
I wear her face under grim overhead light
She has hers on too — brighter
Together we tell the story of a star
Cut!
While standing in your dad’s kitchen waiting for the kettle to scream
I see two snakes weaving through the dry grass
Their scales winding together in the lush moonlight
Bits of sparks shaving off their scales
Cut!
Cut!
Cut!
cut !
Cut!
Cut!
Cut!
The snakes came back last night
I tried to feed them street names, corner houses
They slid through the grass, refusing to look at me
:
To drive in the direction of the past
To listen to the kettle calling and hear only hissing
let dry
Talina Meinheit
︎ NOV 23, 2021
haven’t
showered
since you,
the city’s
nature too
.
showered
since you,
the city’s
nature too
.
Talina Meinheit grew up on a farm in Lyon County, Iowa. She currently lives and writes in Minneapolis.
Also by Talina: Out
Boom Beach, Maine
Nolan Allan
︎ NOV 22, 2021
Gutted lanterns leak yellow
oil like the needy
urchins my hands
pulled from the ocean, torn
apart before you. Us: beachside,
sky: gray, you: empirically
observing the cold
wet pieces I threw aside after
they drew blood
from my hands, you watched
in mild disgust, or
love, little difference
to be had, and not
that it matters but
my hands can still feel
how it felt to crack us
open the echinoderm to reveal
the soft pentagram
shaped sexual organ I
carefully removed and without
bothering to wipe the viscera from
my hands I swallowed
it down in one gulp and smiled and thought
about one day eventually
when all the seas will
rise and accost our cities
and one day eventually the sun
will grow and accost
our planet and one day
eventually the moon will fall back into us
when it finally realizes nothing
has the answer, except the only dream I
ever remember: a man leaning before
a crumbling black marble dais
on an endless stage covered in thick fur rugs
all decorated with pale roses and bundled orchids
already dying, in need
of water he slumps and rages
on his people's behalf against
the forever night's encroaching
memorandums and as he reaches
his apex, his kid icarus
moment, he retches and liquid
the color of old growth forests
spills down his chin, deep dark
viscous stuff that pools and stains
the thick fur rugs that cover the endless stage
the crumbling black marble dais
sits upon, him prevailing, refusing
to clean off the ill humour, avocado skin
colored bile built inside his own body
without a care in the never lasting world
we tried to make together, though
in keeping with this being a dream, unctuous
petals emerge from the flowers maddeningly, stop
motionly, growing and falling and growing
again, they pile
they/themselves beautifully
across the crumbling black marble dais,
matrimonial traditions taken
to extremes the crowd couldn't've imagined,
the crowd: they feast on songbird
drowned in stale cognac and eaten
whole: guts, beak, face, everything, often
served with mushrooms quietly existing under pine
needles, haloed omelet color flesh
imbued with the stink of red
cinnamon candy left in the woods
for centuries, the way we used to
smell, and if you're reading
this, it's too late,
and if you're still reading this,
you're probably thinking like
wow, this is a really vivid dream
he had and I’d be like yes, it was
a really vivid dream
I am having, wow is right.
.
oil like the needy
urchins my hands
pulled from the ocean, torn
apart before you. Us: beachside,
sky: gray, you: empirically
observing the cold
wet pieces I threw aside after
they drew blood
from my hands, you watched
in mild disgust, or
love, little difference
to be had, and not
that it matters but
my hands can still feel
how it felt to crack us
open the echinoderm to reveal
the soft pentagram
shaped sexual organ I
carefully removed and without
bothering to wipe the viscera from
my hands I swallowed
it down in one gulp and smiled and thought
about one day eventually
when all the seas will
rise and accost our cities
and one day eventually the sun
will grow and accost
our planet and one day
eventually the moon will fall back into us
when it finally realizes nothing
has the answer, except the only dream I
ever remember: a man leaning before
a crumbling black marble dais
on an endless stage covered in thick fur rugs
all decorated with pale roses and bundled orchids
already dying, in need
of water he slumps and rages
on his people's behalf against
the forever night's encroaching
memorandums and as he reaches
his apex, his kid icarus
moment, he retches and liquid
the color of old growth forests
spills down his chin, deep dark
viscous stuff that pools and stains
the thick fur rugs that cover the endless stage
the crumbling black marble dais
sits upon, him prevailing, refusing
to clean off the ill humour, avocado skin
colored bile built inside his own body
without a care in the never lasting world
we tried to make together, though
in keeping with this being a dream, unctuous
petals emerge from the flowers maddeningly, stop
motionly, growing and falling and growing
again, they pile
they/themselves beautifully
across the crumbling black marble dais,
matrimonial traditions taken
to extremes the crowd couldn't've imagined,
the crowd: they feast on songbird
drowned in stale cognac and eaten
whole: guts, beak, face, everything, often
served with mushrooms quietly existing under pine
needles, haloed omelet color flesh
imbued with the stink of red
cinnamon candy left in the woods
for centuries, the way we used to
smell, and if you're reading
this, it's too late,
and if you're still reading this,
you're probably thinking like
wow, this is a really vivid dream
he had and I’d be like yes, it was
a really vivid dream
I am having, wow is right.
.
Nolan Allan is an artist from North Carolina. His work has appeared in Peach Magazine, Prelude, Hazlitt, and many others. His chapbook ‘Mountain Dew’ was published by Bottlecap Press in 2017. He lives in a city near the woods and can be found online @nolanallan.
Mouth-ammunition of this island
Joshua Martin
︎ NOV 16, 2021
bombarde dart
lion slays
thunder=
bolts , powder by
means avoid
heart
catapult – fields
hurricane
sister’s ram—
explain
(ed) (ing) bough
artificial
[preserved w/ salt] regional
crooked crowding
frequent (p)lace
reach voyage sweet
nestled marine
yclept bestriding
obstinate lurking
belly (pantry eyesight
stale gymnast
spittle tankard)=
hierarchy
full
TOP sail S
mythologists pound
lighter
pitch sprightly parcel
parts seraphim
ashore hightTOP
picaroon[yon cranny
]anti-
Parnassus
plumCAKES shame
cartloads
florid ::: nogoodnik
dainty,chops,folly,
hem,twice,like,duncical
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,brimmers
,,,,,,,,,,
historic DeeD snarl(ing)
prig under
SWINGing porphyry wretched
cartographer beseech (!)
Beseech (!)
BESEECH (!!)
gather=ed
=ing portico
humility TomB
repeated repeated repeated
nose noose
saith the hermit:::::
“flesh fears bastions perforce dingle—
dangle,humming colossal thump
,secular species swam,vast and benumbed
,moon wry monks,hawks,island maul
,plurality reduced to wrought iron
” heathens
barens hue marks
munch mongrel samurai
blue
bescabbed
garters
would plunge
ointment
crunch
ing
loot fowl
belly
,
timber
,
famine
,
dainty
puddings
,superlative
hatched,
thermal
tapestry ,
make plenty
,
furnish
mischief
.
lion slays
thunder=
bolts , powder by
means avoid
heart
catapult – fields
hurricane
sister’s ram—
explain
(ed) (ing) bough
artificial
[preserved w/ salt] regional
crooked crowding
frequent (p)lace
reach voyage sweet
nestled marine
yclept bestriding
obstinate lurking
belly (pantry eyesight
stale gymnast
spittle tankard)=
hierarchy
full
TOP sail S
mythologists pound
lighter
pitch sprightly parcel
parts seraphim
ashore hightTOP
picaroon[yon cranny
]anti-
Parnassus
plumCAKES shame
cartloads
florid ::: nogoodnik
dainty,chops,folly,
hem,twice,like,duncical
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,brimmers
,,,,,,,,,,
historic DeeD snarl(ing)
prig under
SWINGing porphyry wretched
cartographer beseech (!)
Beseech (!)
BESEECH (!!)
gather=ed
=ing portico
humility TomB
repeated repeated repeated
nose noose
saith the hermit:::::
“flesh fears bastions perforce dingle—
dangle,humming colossal thump
,secular species swam,vast and benumbed
,moon wry monks,hawks,island maul
,plurality reduced to wrought iron
” heathens
barens hue marks
munch mongrel samurai
blue
bescabbed
garters
would plunge
ointment
crunch
ing
loot fowl
belly
,
timber
,
famine
,
dainty
puddings
,superlative
hatched,
thermal
tapestry ,
make plenty
,
furnish
mischief
.
Joshua Martin is a Philadelphia-based writer and filmmaker, who currently works in a library. He is the author of the books combustible panoramic twists (Trainwreck Press), Pointillistic Venetian Blinds (Alien Buddha Press), and Vagabond fragments of a hole (Schism Neuronics). He has had numerous pieces published in various journals including Otoliths, M58, The Sparrow’s Trombone, Coven, Scud, Ygdrasil, RASPUTIN, Ink Pantry, and Synchronized Chaos. You can find links to his published work at joshuamartinwriting.blogspot.com.
He’ll have three poems in Issue 2.