“If you’re happy and you know it” by Nicholas Alti

grow more hands if you’re happy and you know it become a monstrosity   If you’re happy and you know it and you really want to show it give me the skeleton of everything that’s gone extinct   give me the fossil of optimism   If you need water or will wilt and you know it sit still and pray for water   feel yourself wilting and wilt   Look into the night sky tell it I want to put you in a bowl as if you were a fish to illuminate my room as if you were the night … Continue reading “If you’re happy and you know it” by Nicholas Alti

“another self-deprecating joke about my criminal record” and “Why Quit When You Can’t?” by Nicholas Alti

        Nicholas Alti writes with and about trigeminal neuralgia, depression, addiction, and an affinity for strangeness. He’s an assistant editor for fiction and poetry at The Black Warrior Review. There’s more of his work at Dream Pop Press, Hypertrophic Press, The Hunger, Pretty Owl Poetry, and elsewhere. Continue reading “another self-deprecating joke about my criminal record” and “Why Quit When You Can’t?” by Nicholas Alti

“The Void Blues” by Harley Claes

My body was seated in my soul under blacklight- bound to analysis though I could bare no judgement as I sit and spin for aural opium. I had pictured a panorama of my trauma as an infernal, despicable whole. I made myself sick to purge my past as illness. To forget my incapabilities, I was lenient on rediscovery. But I could not forget the urgency of my depressive, sadist-sucking nature, I was raised a defensive. Having fallen for an acid casualty- I was mindsick & hallucination dependant, picturing all our visions as prophetic. Realizing as a patient, I was only … Continue reading “The Void Blues” by Harley Claes

Poetry Demon by Kristin Garth

Listen in on a reading by poet Kristin Garth by visiting the video above.    Poetry Demon A poetry demon won’t clean a house. It burrows in clutter, writing it out. Language is legion. Words only espoused. Diabolism requires fingers devout. A poetry demon does not have friends. It listens to troubles, locating a pen. Seeks clarification. Won’t condescend. Emotions, details its ghoulish godsend. A poetry demon might get you read. Knows how to write its way into a head. It charts your cerebrum once it embeds. Conquers mass consciousness without bloodshed. When life’s chaos, but words are refined, a … Continue reading Poetry Demon by Kristin Garth

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