Category: Poetry

Welcome to your new artistic fix.

West Hollywood Bath House, by Tim Robbins

He wears the shamelessness of the place like the grace of a sinner just come from confession, as though the twink in the little room behind the bullet-proof glass, on whom everything is too tight, even his skin, said to his back as he disappeared into the light, “Go in peace, and my grace go…
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Two Poems, by Ali Whitelock

ode to an ovary your belly protruded me invaded i could not breathe you could have held it in you chose not to it’s natural you think to have it stick out like demi moore on the front cover of that magazine you give a photographer too much money to shoot you and your bump…
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Let’s reverse the roles, by Delaney Daly

let’s reverse the roles this time, i’ll be the heartbroken edges of a love triangle. i’ll wear a tattooed smile & lime green liver bruises from too many seven dollar bottles of year-aged merlot. i’ll be emotionally stable, respectful of your time & space, & when i ask if i can bother you on your…
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Four Poems, by Larry O. Dean

Chopped: Algebra Edition What I’ve made for you today is a real reunion of broken parts, a deconstruction, if you will, in the style of Abu Ja’far Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi’s “Rules of Reintegration and Reduction,” whereby thickening and intensifying the flavor of certain quadratic equations is achieved by boiling rapidly                               vectors, matrices,…
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Sensory Deprivation, by Julie Hart

You walk 25 blocks in the slashing sleet. You peel off your soggy down coat and roll it up, stuff it in a little locker, along with your wallet and glasses. You sign a waiver. You will, in fact, allow them to take webcam video and post stills from it on Tumblr. You think: why…
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Of Gas and Vapor, by Marissa Ahmadkhani

Caged canaries used to be taken down, deep into the mines—as early warning signs for deadly leaks of gas and vapor. And I guess there were warning signs of our own ochre death. Of our bodies separated by a noxious fog and our two hearts slowing. I would have known if I had listened. Listened…
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I collect myself, by Tawnya Renelle

in fingernail clippings curly red pubic hair in the smell of socks bobby pins in the carpet in popped zits stacks of journals in skin tattooed I collect myself in case nobody else does   Tawnya Renelle is a poet from Bellingham, WA. She completed a MFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College and is…
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Shadows At Night, by Natalie Crick

Shadows dance: The shape of your ghost A pornography of orchids, Soft, quiet as new snow. Night fulls. Our bodies grow limbs. They rise and sink, Feeling for a heartbeat. Longing, melting Like dead bees pouring From a smoking hive. Tulip petals close. The stars will not hold back. They starve for light. Moon dreams…
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Two Poems, by Gale Acuff

Delilah and Samson Man, do I love my wife since she shaved her head. And I mean bald, as if it never was intended to bear hair. I like sports so she’s just about any ball I can think of–billiard, bowling, bearing, BB. One night I dared her to do it and she did. It…
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Small Spring on the Property, by Martina Reisz Newberry

My friend, Hazel, sat on a yellow plastic chair outside her trailer in Bentonia, Mississippi on an acre of land owned by a great-uncle who let her fix up the old trailer and live in it for free so she could live protected, hidden from her ex who threatened to kill her if he ever…
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