Daily Archives: January 22, 2018


“To: C-Jay” by Emily Anderson

my love is not a new love it has evolved over millennia;

i cannot say anything new about the feeling in my gut i have no revolutionary thoughts about

the afterlife i cannot tell you how to fix a pulled thread-

 

my love is not a new love it has fermented in the rotting grapes

it has fermented in the rotting grapes.

i have fermented in the rotting grapes.

it has germinated in the redwoods and i have died and been reborn.

 

i have endured frostbite and sunburns and stretched skin and scars from hot water

i have cracked but never crumbled

so i must be stronger than mountains.

 

you must be stronger than mountains.

 

my life has waxed and waned

i have watched the dirt rain down and shield me from the horror

i have been bathed in light cast from fluorescent bulbs and kerosene lamps and i have been baptized in

the sun-

i have watched black clouds collide and carve into the earth

like children with sticks in sand.

 

we have held seashells to our ears and listened closely.

we heard war

or were those waves crashing?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emily Anderson is a creative writing major who moved from bustling Miami, Florida to the small village of Bidwell in the Ohio River Valley. She is a student at Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia, and is currently working on her first novel.


“Pygmalion’s Dream” by Zachary Flint

Her lips cool as granite
Curves frozen in relentless beauty
My warmest desires forever rebuffed
She does not know me, though I have known her.

 

But in my dreams her lips respond
Sealing our love as the breeze touches her hair
Our hearts beat together with the eternal flame
I do not wish to wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zachary Flint is a college student studying Mathematics in Boston, MA. His influences include but are not limited to: John Donne, Kurt Vonnegut, and his friend Mario. When he isn’t studying in Boston, he lives in Vermont with his parents because he has no money.


“Creatures of the Water” by David Hernandez

When I look at the El Paso Zoo’s alligator
resting in its pond, its eyes look back to me.

 

I try to imagine what it thinks:
“The gray clouds will engulf the light.
The rain will fall for a week
and send ripples throughout the pond.
The water will connect with the ground.
Light might pass through holes in the gray clouds
and send heat to warm my back.”

 

Then I try to imagine what it thinks of me:
“He probably needs a break from the heat.”

 

I walk to view the wolves by its side
and still its eyes stare back at me.

 

“When will he want to view the blue sky?
The heat makes you feel more alive
than the rain, which makes you sick
then puts you asleep.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

David Hernandez is from El Paso, TX. He has also been published by Down in the Dirt Magazine, CC&D Magazine, Feelings of the Heart, Home Planet News Online, Oxford Magazine, Eye on Life Magazine, and Zylophone Poetry Journal.


“Militant Globetrotters” by Joseph Robert

We don’t believe in a cause
We believe in anything
That removes Society’s muzzle
& lets us gorge freely
On the blood of the brave
& lets us gnaw merrily
On the bones of the weak

 

Our dream is to become morality police
Empowered to behead the scum
Who used to live here
At the drop of a blade

 

Two war crimes make a right
To descend into sanctimonious savagery

 

Murder is the birthright
Of those made obstinate
Those born to the wrong clan
Them who won’t convert

 

We’ll get them gone
Gotta love our hate
Flexible problem solvers
We’ll go far

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joseph Robert was longlisted for the Melita Hume Poetry Prize 2015. His poetry has appeared in Decanto, Unlikely Stories, Dead Snakes, The Journal, Mistress Quickly’s Bed, Pyrokinection, The Commonline Journal, Mudjob, Spinozablue, Black Mirror, Message in a Bottle, Bluepepper, Eunoia Review, Inclement, Leaves of Ink, The Open End, The Open Mouse, and the Insert Coin Here anthology. His joint poetry chapbook with his poet wife, Leilanie Stewart, has been reviewed in Sabotage Magazine.


“59 O’clock” by Drew Marshall

The first day of Spring
When the thoughts
Of a late middle aged man
Turn to folly

 

A young lady walks
Several feet in front of me
With jeans
Painted on to her bulging butt

 

I’m on my way to the dentist
Tomorrow, a relative’s funeral
It’s not the first time
I witness a mother burying her son

 

Later that night, I am told
My neighbor’s daughter is dead
She died in a car accident
While upstate on vacation

 

My fears are irrelevant

 

It’s been years, if not decades
Since I have been this focused

 

The ass had faded

 

Only death is forever

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drew Marshall works as a Program Assistant in the mental health field. He has also worked as a Benefit Analyst and litigation paralegal. He enjoys practicing guitar and snorting vanilla scented candles.