Three Poems | by stephanie roberts

NO SUCH FOREVER

gold circuits
on or off–
a fourteen karat
ring
of no decibels
slim
to a finger.

the glass-
scratching
precious is pear-cut
light broke
to rainbow glint
–centred & sided
by twin
blood-fire flanks
square & flesh-mounted
yellow closure. Continue reading “Three Poems | by stephanie roberts”

he says, | by Ingrid Calderon

“you’re very Prussian in your sadness,
you live life dark,
brooding
very Soviet,
as if you’re being oppressed daily
by the communist regime…
a clinical masochist—

you’ve changed your mom’s mind about scars,
told her they’re combat wounds,
a tangible map of grit, Continue reading “he says, | by Ingrid Calderon”

Two Poems | by Lauren Milici

INVOCATION TO ST. ASHLEY

Sorry
for the
breasts
that nearly
spilled out
onto your dinner
plate. For the lashes
that cast a shadow. For
the lips that were red, all
red, & the glitter. Sorry that
the band played louder, or was it
his pulse? Sorry for the gospel hymns
I crooned into the phone when he called.
Sorry my fingertips are ten Hail Marys. Ten
novenas. Sorry for the roses that fell out of my
mouth. For the way I pricked you & pricked you & pricked
you. My body is a garden. My body is the patron saint of want.

 

 

 

SCENE

one by one by one. you gave me
                           the flowers, the petals I go home & eat. this is the part
              in the movie where the director wants me
                            to kill you, but I can’t, so understand something
             that wasn’t love, you told me this, near the stop sign
where you picked me up in your wife’s
                            car, I could choke myself, I wanted your hands
             to be my hands I wanted a scene big enough to make
everybody look at us. I was ready to peel back my skin
              & scream, & I was the glow of the streetlight, I looked
the wrong way & something was wrong. I can’t
             be trusted to kiss mouths without biting, so you wouldn’t
                           kiss me & I wanted to shoot the scene
             where your hands become my hands so I could cup my own
face & feel the word tender. I wanted to shoot the scene where your hands
             become my hands. I wanted to shoot for months
I rehearsed the script of my leaving, but never left.

 

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Lauren Milici is a Florida native who writes poetry, teaches English, and is currently getting her MFA in Creative Writing somewhere in the mountains of West Virginia. When she isn’t crafting sad poems about sex, she’s either writing or shouting into the void about film, TV, and all things pop culture. @motelsiren

 

 

 

the second canonization | by Ehlayna Napolitano

i have poetry written between my thighs,
              the way lilted words are written on manuscripts,
              relics discovered in an ancient church.
an overgrown holy ground,
              i can hear the breathy hymns escape
              when i nick my own skin.
what lonely devouts worshipped here?
              laying venerating kisses on the crossing of my legs,
              placing flowers at the taut base of my neck,
              bowing before the altar of my breast?
let me arise on my own altar:
              wrapping myself in smoky incense and
              as baptismal sweat glistens crystalline
              from the effort.

 

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Ehlayna Napolitano is a writer and editor, based in Providence, Rhode Island. She currently freelances as a copy editor and reporter, and has forthcoming work in Moonchild Magazine and The Long Island Literary Journal. She tweets @ehlaynanaps and writes at scarletepithets.tumblr.com.

Glass Oracles | by Brit Graham

The lantern’s wick is lit from
the flames of our bodies.
Demure and sweet-slick we
pluck our fangs from each
other’s teeth.

More readily accepted
among men, among
those arrogant believers.

They shove scriptures,
mortal tinctures down
our throats, in hope
we parrot some divine
message collected from
their small gods.

We roll our dimpled
hips in time, as one,
as many. The lantern’s
pulse, our hearts
stuttering, intermittent. Continue reading “Glass Oracles | by Brit Graham”

I Put The Coffin Out To Sea | by Lisa Marie Basile

i

Our shoreline speaks of night; we can’t hear it but we can see its mouth move.
                                             I am at the ready for god, but let’s be honest.
I gloss over the jetty, watch a seaflower hold its breath between the rock;
             I hold my breath to move between the veil.
                                           Miracles, we sing.
Death only happens to the living;            even the quietest corners
              pale away. We grope at rooms of mirrors, through tufts of flora,
                               for the rose of Jericho. Let me tumble to resurrection &
              stop me from sleeping all day. I have barely seen the sun. I won’t wake up
                            until I have forgotten the scent of absence. There is an obscene goneness
            in my palms.
Somewhere on land we dirge through the malaise. I am nothing
             more than a girl who cries on balconies
at this point      at this point I am nothing more than the balcony.
               I gaze at the petals; they gaze at my wound.
I’m so wound-bound.      I’m so lost to the vanity
                of staying. Stay. Continue reading “I Put The Coffin Out To Sea | by Lisa Marie Basile”

Two Poems | by Emily Paige Wilson

I Am Constantly Seeking Reassurance

My thoughts are homeless & stealthy.
They make an orange moat
                                                 of my tongue,
                  some slack-sided
constellation of moans that would confuse
              farmers’ crops into growing
                                           crooked stalks.
Please tell me
                             I am not
                                               going
                                                            blind.
              Kaleidoscopic eyes across which
              glide dissolved specks of proteins,
lilac & laughing.                            My boyfriend
can only                                 reassure me Continue reading “Two Poems | by Emily Paige Wilson”