Two Poems | by PJ Carmichael


The high today
is in the 90’s,

sun beating life
into a salt-soaked frenzy,

liters of sweat sealing scars,
old wounds to never reopen,

save for those quiet eternities,
internal bleedings at 2 AM.

8 AM now and the shirt’s
drenched in heat and liquid,

messy start to a scorcher,
bodies of water beckoning me

to indulge in immersion
(they’d love to touch).

A day to swim through,
some stubborn lessons to learn

and forget, all colluding in
eventual bloom, the growth of ages.

The high today
is in the 90’s,

and the sun is too tired
to set, sleep, and slumber.

Blinding waves of gold break
through the discomfort of bare

legs stuck to the seats
of public transportation.
Continue reading “Two Poems | by PJ Carmichael”

Two Poems | by J.B. Stone

The Differences between Caribou and Man

My boots feel stuck, attempting to grip the crackles of ice, as I take a walk through the bar strip off of Allen Street. I still wonder how Caribous feel, as their hooves transform into icepicks, trying to piece through the frost just to move a few feet each time. We are both walks of mammalian life, we both need the air of to breathe, but that is where the similarities end. The migration of the caribou is for survival, as they nomadically roam from home to home, not settling in one place for too long. Continue reading “Two Poems | by J.B. Stone”

Two Poems | by Ingrid Calderon

lemon peel

I want to be soft,
like fine china
sipped antiquity
brotheled smut
I want my navel
to expand
each time I think of you
I want my skin
to turn to sand
and slip between
your weathered hands
I want my eyes to land
inside your mouth
so you can see
I carry innocence
abysmal purity
beside sharp shards
warm milk
old wounds
still bleeding Continue reading “Two Poems | by Ingrid Calderon”

Three Poems | by James Pate



Sister Midnight, Queen Midnight, Red Midnight, Red Queen, Carrion Queen, Attic Queen, Sister Twin, Sister Dusk, Sister Eclipse, Sister Arson, Sister Nero, Queen Red, Queen Blank, Queen Tremor, Sister One, Sister Two, Sister of the Velvet Basements, Queen of the Back-broken Chairs, Queen of the Rabid Statuary, Sister of Fortune, Sister of Grace, Sister of Obscurer Elements, Queen Tarot, Queen Serpent, Queen Mourning, Sister Morning: Continue reading “Three Poems | by James Pate”

Three Poems | by Ryn Weil


Remember? What light, water, and earth was memory made of?
Only haptic in my hands and in the crevices of my head, but beyond that.
your soul lies, asleep, curled and muted except for the exhaling of breath
like a small animal tucked in a corner of sunlight. Death wakes it, stirs it
in the same manner as love, and the sight of love. It draws it up and pulls it back.
Death lets the animal of the soul out to feel real air, true sunlight.
But mine, mine died imprisoned, raking claws, talons, teeth against its captive walls.
So the scars, the cuts you see inflicted by my own hands are nothing,
Nothing but the simple necessity of breathing.
Without them, letting the smoke of my burnt soul out, I would be screaming.
Continue reading “Three Poems | by Ryn Weil”