Something foolish and crude

drunk at a party
on rum with white wine,
with beer and with not
enough sandwiches.
I collapse, spiral down
like a bird in siberian winter;
atumble through feather
and frost. I fall, and remember
my yells in the kitchen;
said something interesting
and followed my point
with something more foolish
and crude. I remember
the sink, and the dishes
like buildings with an ivy
of long-finished dinners.
life passed. a duck
flinging doppler
through guns. my friends
quite embarrassed. my wife
just as much as my friends.
glorious. sparks flaring
on firelit paper – a lobbed candle
and throbbing hot grease.
when they put me to bed
I’m still very much
clowning. my eyes
long tunnels, full of cars
striking cars.
things spun.
the eiderdown
on my legs
is beautiful.

DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as “a cosmopolitan poet” and another as “prolific, bordering on incontinent”. His work has been nominated thirteen times for BOTN, ten for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and released in three collections, most recently “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022)

conglomerate telegram

hot flash it’s sticky in this stop
darkness nuclear rat n
trenchstopcoat flay alive stop
huddled the protect masses of
pulverized antithetical object
devices stop the senseless stop i
have no hot flash true identity
stop i have no hot flash voice of
my own stop

(This poem originally appeared in ‘Clockwork Cat’, 2024)

Scott C. Holstad has authored 60+ books & has appeared in the Minnesota Review, Exquisite
Corpse, Santa Clara Review, Chiron Review, Long Shot, Southern Review, Poetry Ireland
Review, miniMAG, Eulogy Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Argyle, Bristol Noir, dadakuku &
Blood+Honey. He’s moved 40+ times & lives near Gettysburg PA.

PROLIFIC

Lascivious snakes slither through
unwashed hair, drop eggs in ears.

Thoughts hatch that would make
you blush. I do not comb adders out.

They burrow into my brain. Derailed
mind train scatters boxcar contents

onto the laptop screen: recall bits,
quick quip, suicide note by a friend

who took both gun barrels, cocktail
recipe, saved fortune cookie scroll:

‘Don’t expect to find one right way
to make yourself more creative’

Glenn J. Armstrong was just at home at both CBGBs and a monastery. His work has appeared in
the Beatnik Cowboy, Rye Whiskey Review, Piker Press, and others. He lives in San Diego.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many mounds of snow.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Fixator Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

Luis was born in Mexico, lives in California, and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His latest chapbook, Make the Light Mine, was published by Kendra Steiner Editions. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Mad Swirl, Unlikely Stories, and Yellow Mama Magazine. 

My Brother & I

forty years
looking for girls
only to die
with nowhere else to go
but a missing bookcase
a virgin country
the music
of rain streaked
parking lots
dancing under
a bare bulb.

John Dorsey is the former Poet Laureate of Belle, MO. He is the author of several collections of
poetry, including Which Way to the River: Selected Poems: 2016-2020 (OAC Books, 2020),
Sundown at the Redneck Carnival, (Spartan Press, 2022, Pocatello Wildflower, (Crisis
Chronicles Press, 2023) and Dead Photographs, (Stubborn Mule Press, 2024). He may be
reached at archerevans@yahoo.com.

One Of Those Afternoons… Tilt

Twisted up into shapes
… unrecognisable…
where’s your Soul?
The Old Bill
… plodding along…
Copper’s Avenue
… as Cages open.
‘Shaking Hands’
is rarely heartfelt any
-more… it’s business.
We used to call
‘Cockblockers’
Gooseberries… back
when I was young
and not quite sweet.
We also used to
Forgive and Forget,
and wait for
adequate Explanations
before Attacking…
not anymore, sunshine!

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. His novel “Crazy Like Emotion”, collection of shorter fiction “Kicking Back Drunk ‘Round The Candletree Graves”, and full-length poetry books “The Dark Side Of British Poetry: Book 1 of Urban, Cinematic, Degeneration” and “It Is Big And It Is Clever: Book 1 Of A Punk Rock Hostile Takeover” are all now available by Close To The Bone Publishing.

Bomb

The sky’s collapsing
from the weight
of all the light
it holds! The birds
are sweet
and sticky.

A twitter and moan
and the locusts
are gone

there is steam
on the ground and
nothing is fun
anymore.

Jenne Kaivo was raised in Northern California among the redwoods and wild poets. She learned to speak poetry, but eventually had to join human society.

Half-life

Nowadays, you’re
so busy,
it takes a
life and a half
to keep you running.

All of yours
and half of mine.

That leaves,
like a radioactive substance
with decaying atoms,
a half-life
for me.

Doug Sylver’s recent work can be found in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Cold Moon Journal, Contemporary Haibun Online, failed haiku and Fixator Press. He is a retired public high school teacher and lives in Seattle with his love, Monica.

RESURRECTION

You’ve never asked what broke me —
instead, you show up with quiet hands
and a tool kit tucked behind your heart.

Under moonlight, you kneel beside my shattered ribs,
tighten the bolts behind my breath, the catch in my throat,
change the bulbs in each eye every time they flicker.

You call it routine maintenance.
I call it my resurrection.

 

May Garner is a poet and author based outside of Dayton, Ohio. She has been dedicated to crafting and sharing her work online for over a decade now. She is the author of two poetry collections, “Withered Rising” and “Melancholic Muse”. Her work has also been featured by several presses, including Querencia, Cozy Ink, and the Ohio Bards. You can find more of her work on Instagram (@crimson.hands).