“Out-of-Body” by Wanda Deglane

            Wanda Deglane is a psychology/family & human development student at Arizona State University. Her poetry has been published or forthcoming on Dodging the Rain, Rust + Moth, Anti-Heroin Chic, and elsewhere. She writes to survive. Wanda is the daughter of Peruvian immigrants, and lives with her giant family and beloved dog, Princess Leia, in Glendale, Arizona.     Advertisements Continue reading “Out-of-Body” by Wanda Deglane

“liminal edgings” by Savannah Slone

            Savannah Slone is a queer writer who earned her B.A. in English: Professional and Creative Writing from Central Washington University and is completing her M.F.A. in Writing at Lindenwood University. Her poetry and short fiction has appeared in or will soon appear in Manastash Literary Arts Magazine, Creative Colloquy, Heavy Feather Review, Boston Accent Lit, PaperFox Lit Mag, The Stray Branch, The Airgonaut, Ghost City Press, Sinister Wisdom, decomP magazinE, Maudlin House, FIVE:2:ONE, Foliate Oak, Pidgeonholes, and Luna Luna Magazine. Her debut chapbook, Hearing the Underwater, is forthcoming publication at Finishing Line Press. Savannah … Continue reading “liminal edgings” by Savannah Slone

A Conversation Between Three Entities: The Face, The Witness & The Viewer

  The Witness: Why do you cry? The Face: Because, I see. The Witness: What do you see?   ::  The Face stares back for a time where The Witness thought to itself ‘until Kingdom-Come, when will it speak?” The Face’s eyes weld up with the deepest sorrow yet the greatest joy with a mouth closed and an unbreakable silence. Then, The Face let out a heavy sigh. ::   The Face: I am a Seer My eyes pour So, my third eye may shine It is the diamond of my mind It cries… Dripping down from the center-to-the-center Into a … Continue reading A Conversation Between Three Entities: The Face, The Witness & The Viewer

“Not on my lips anymore” by Elisabeth Horan

Your sexual preference is the strand of spider web across my eyes this morning, Annoyed, I swipe it away; it is perfect and persistent; it laughs at my effort, yet doesn’t let go. My wanting you is for what – I don’t know – as if new clothes would make me Somehow happier – more complete – as if a male outfit could dress me less like a pauper, More like the butch empress who shuns the requisite lesbian clothes Our time was not for naught but smacks of chocolate mints after dinner, you want one so badly especially after … Continue reading “Not on my lips anymore” by Elisabeth Horan

“How a Girl is Born Brutal” by Weslyn Rae Newburn

    I spent the summer pretending my legs were confined in a sheath of iridescent scales, swimming with eyes closed, nose pinched tightly shut. The burn of chlorine in my throat, greasy shine of sunscreen on my shoulders, cool juiciness of lemon yellow freezy-pops, that tasted nothing like real lemons. That summer my bitterness festered like the smashed green anoles on the back porch. Guinea wasps stirred in my Pepsi and I didn’t feel sorry for them. Your forgotten girl, I prayed for the sun to scald and blister you – make you shrivel up like watermelon seeds in … Continue reading “How a Girl is Born Brutal” by Weslyn Rae Newburn

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

“if there were water” and “Frameshift Mutations” by Shastra Deo

if there were water in lieu of hyacinth garden my kingdom is a heaven of spilled lilies -of-the-valley, dead lands empty is the sea : silent but for breath of my beloved(forbidden sight and sun break)hoards prophecy of the world and its remaking : years he has since grown deciduous—sloughs lashes like fall teeth, whites of his eyes sap-speckled with singe : my shadow no shelter though his roots still clutch my stone-dry tongue: in the rivermouth where they left the king(my father)the fish shiver apart, jaws stretched out of being : omen and ossuary : all through the reeds … Continue reading “if there were water” and “Frameshift Mutations” by Shastra Deo

For Someone Who Doesn’t Have to Believe in Monsters by Chloe N. Clark

I play my cards so close to my chest they might as well be tattoos when people ask me for my past I tell them the things that chase away the truth, the secret to not lying is to never get close to needing to I say I’m scared of horses and silverfish and leopard seals I distract with the things they’ll find funny or if they ask what I want to do with my life and I change the subject say some random fact from history: that Edgar Allan Poe may have died from rabies, that there were ships … Continue reading For Someone Who Doesn’t Have to Believe in Monsters by Chloe N. Clark

SAD SANDWICHES: Baloney & Plastic Wrapped Cheese, no mayo by Moriah M. Mylod

Seeing my mother standing there with all of her grandchildren looking more infantile Walking around, carrying the infant that is me Wishing I had a dad that took us fishing not teaching us anything about how to fish Wishing I had a dad… — Finally in time, I have created a family A family I have always needed Though I sought out glimmers of it in friends’ homes — Nobody celebrates the victories that were overcome But, I did… Nobody will acknowledge the injustices that were lived through But, I will… Connecting it to all of humanity’s sufferings? — So… … Continue reading SAD SANDWICHES: Baloney & Plastic Wrapped Cheese, no mayo by Moriah M. Mylod

“Pest Control” and “Dissociative Amnesia” by Kristin Ryan

Pest Control I. There are always roaches in the corners of my mind. I’m in the kitchen washing cups at the sink and time skips. Skips as in: I’m six and splinters are in my back. Skips again: roaches crawl over me. Skips again: the sink is overflowing and soap suds run down my arm. This happens more and more. When I walk down the hallway to the bedroom, in the shower, the nights where I’m brave enough to be touched. My husband’s hands are always gentle, they always will be. I know this like I know windows can be … Continue reading “Pest Control” and “Dissociative Amnesia” by Kristin Ryan