“THE WAIT” by Michael Akuchie

i keep a pinch of soul on the nightstand & leave open the windows of this room plagued with fear of the great unknown of my heart continually exposed to grief stricken events a bible nestles close, perfumed pages advertise ageless wisdom our fleshes meet briefly as stares are visited upon each other my mouth folds up a prayer & holds on until it is perfectly shaped to fly across the night & carry my life on for the next stretch of days because i swallow enough problems to cause incurable bloatedness because everytime of day is a gift to … Continue reading “THE WAIT” by Michael Akuchie

“Broken Story” by Kim Peter Kovac

    therapy dog lying on bride on gurney in hallway /startle / crunch / swirl / roll roll roll / dangling upside down held by the seat belt / car roof now floor / dog visiting other patients once he knows his mom is okay / thinks she’s okay / can’t self-forgive / desperately trying to steer / crunch / guilt / shock / pink cloud / how could the hospital miss the concussion / rolling three times / metal crunching / thankful for the dog-car-harness / broken nose  / banged up / what happened? / separated shoulder / … Continue reading “Broken Story” by Kim Peter Kovac

Arsenic Hour: my middle aged women troubles by Elisabeth Horan

This is the debut of Elisabeth Horan’s column, Arsenic Hour. Here is its namesake poem.     Here comes a bad one. Pearled teeth, gnarled hands, knife fingers, bomb breasts, snake limbs, tortoise pelvis, wolf anus, pronghorn genitals. Here comes the malfeasance. Ivory ban, fingernail grind, tusked cheeks, flat bill palette, five toes times five legs, monstrously amphibious, heat seeking whore platypus. Squat and jealous. Here comes the lady in red. Competitive. Hormone pinch hitter, estrogen wane, progesterone filler, wants things of testosterone nearby her; a dildo toy killer. Hypothyroid gets her best, statin spies through this fat girl’s dress. … Continue reading Arsenic Hour: my middle aged women troubles by Elisabeth Horan

We who are lost; Mmm, Nope; Neurotic Lullaby by Elisabeth Horan

Three poems by contributor Elisabeth Horan   We who are lost Find each other in warehouses Too late sometimes, it’s in graveyards. Always emaciated, dumpster diving for attention   Overweight on alcohol anorexic acceptance rates like High school anxiety shave the head try on personalities   We who find each other and save some last hope from each self we carry give momentus hope for self care, for having less   Night terrors, the bruises calming from catalyst snarls aubergine pockets to mottled Eye sockets   Mottled to moss moss blankets earth. bury the hatchet, you’ll bury the hurt   … Continue reading We who are lost; Mmm, Nope; Neurotic Lullaby by Elisabeth Horan