BALLOT BALLET BULLOT BULLET–poem by Vanessa Angélica Villarreal

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body/language–poems by Torrin Greathouse

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body/language

 

my lover speaks in signs / fractals
hands into language when their voice fails them

i too know language / in the failures
of my body / split syntax of fractured chestContinue Reading

Oath of Softest–Poems by Jessica Lawson

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Oath of Softest

He makes his money his woman (in the office to steel (but the resolution (will not be televised,
(take this, then (our oath of softest.

A fly by Might operation might operate (on your granny, her (hip hip (hopping below the belt
(and he’s ready to give her (whatever care he can grab (in between conference calls, (while the
full ass of social media (butt dials their representatives (leaving an oath of softest (in the empty
art of the dialtone (when the voicemail box is full.Continue Reading

Poems by Scherezade Siobhan

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by Scherezade Siobhan

De Sade’s Leeches – II

my dear, there is no art – to how a horse breaks – all thresholds are contrived to corrupt –
make what you will of thunder – under the flashlight, we are all – a provocation of insects –
spry economies, stubborn facts – decimals changing places – between wriggle & release
once rifled, combed, aborted  – the body is a museum for curating  – the threadbare
indignities of biology – the annais i carnage – the plinth i mock, because – we are sitting
ducks for a seismic jailbreak – my name splits the difference – between a sin and a crime –
diamonds on a leather strap – my name kinks your neck – a collar of fur – all kinesis, all
nausea –  trauma makes a dactylogram of my arms – a pupil of forensics – tutelary  fucks –
proof so evident, it is invisible – therefore,  i unmarry my psychosis – between the person &
the pill –  i brush the gun – guzzle the barrel – hazard the trapdoor – charcoal blackmails my
skin –  my desire is oil on canvas – fervent with a polished musculature – i conceal its
etiology, slip out the seedling – from under the stone, a hand – because the children here
have turned – to stone – the stone has turned to god – god has turned – thats all – god has
turned – to where there are no exits – just the dead grin – of a bedouin horse – stilllife & all
that

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A Poem to Multiple Men–Poems by Caitlin Scarano

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by Caitlin Scarano

A Poem to Multiple Men

Who made and mended my wrists
of wire. Copper conductors of heat
and electricity. Think of the synaptic
dance, jaw loose daze as you bend
me over and peer inside. I keep you
around to witness the holes in me
I can never see. In the morning we part
wordless, mired mouths, semen on my chest,
the sun rapping against my window
like a chipper neighbor in need of sugar.
I learned the price of loving
a place more than a person: that’s how
I lost one. Were we ever happy? I wrote
and then stomped through each creekbed
between our bodies with kneehigh
galoshes. Most days I take a girl
for a mask. I hide my teeth behind
my hair and pretend to love snow. Give me
the boy with the belly of an ox, give me
one like a child’s tower of blocks
that I can knock down and rebuild
until the game tires of us. I hope you find
someone who loves you. I was never the girl
next door, I was the one cackling beneath
the radiator, bruising herself behind
the eyes. Chasing the moonsure,
the white dog, the man who left me
with a tongue of coal dust.
He’s really no different than the boy
I made into jigsaw and kissed in the rain
until one of us bled.

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Poems by Joy Ladin

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by Joy Ladin

II:6

You don’t get why I beg you
To tie my hands to the bed
And stuff my mouth

With something warm and white
Ripped from the fabric of life
By fingers you tighten around my neck.

You think it has something to do with guilt and pleasure,
Or the origin of tragedy
In the human need

To act out what we suffer,
Or maybe the simple bitchiness
Of forcing you to savor

A capacity for pain
Almost as bottomless as your desire
To hear my cries

As pleasure. Omniscience
Oblivious
To the obvious: as long as I

Am free to flee, I can’t fulfill your fantasy
Of making love
Out of mortal terror.

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Roses Too Bloom–Poems by Emma Erickson

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by Emma Erickson

 

roses too bloom

I hear     babies grow
I hope mine doesn’t

I’d keep  my truth  warm
but  in the shade      dark
maybe purple it reminds
me of coloring when you
wipe your dripping nose
with your wrist and leave
it shining in crooked light
where did  the   clouds  go
here    in between yellows

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