Day: October 14, 2016

Issue Two October 2016

Table of Contents – “the journey issue” J. Andrew Martinez – “Velleity” e. a. toles – “lackluster jargon” A. Siegelster – “A Tree Once Grew Right Through My House” Nicole Moon – “Universe” Massimo Stirneri – untitled poem Barton Smock – “circa (ii)”, “circa (iii)” Amelia Kester – “You’d Think I Was Boy Crazy”, “The Inside of my Mouth is Covered in Sores” Ana Prundaru – untitled art tom reed – “old wood” Maria Atallah – untitled poem Hunter Redding – “Run from Demons” Michael Neal Morris – “The Train” Andrew Taylor – “Bunk”, “There are other Islands” Thomas Waxwood –…

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“Velleity” by J. Andrew Martinez

Velleity Punctilio, Automagically fucked small toe_ conversation will promote into the carbon wound, burgeon abend Carp, lukewarm hang-up the dreams; incubus plantigrade, default setting to impel with in tourbillion Faint heart avow plica, line sardonic Innuendo (wanting to use words) – caterwaul, get beat. J. Andrew Martinez, originally from the South Bay of Los Angeles, California – currently living on the Western Slope of Colorado. Works various jobs to travel and meet people. Previous writing published in Honest Ulsterman.

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“lackluster jargon” by e. a. toles

lackluster jargon there is little to be said                    always words and words syllables constrained with intent yet lacking in sincerity (this is a sentiment, grown among      aged roses and brittle thorns        trite and cliché uttered to the point of prudency, my           god my god      is this what I’ve become) replaced with honest sideways glances. these drunk nights lonesome starlight darling       in rooms of ghosts who cut skin, who tell me that they love me who inhale…

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“A Tree Once Grew Right Through My House” by A. Siegelster

A Tree Once Grew Right Through My House A tree once grew right through my house, A great thing it was in the middle there, Through my room it shot straight up, Its bare branches hanging low. It was a wide-girthed creature, Too big for my little arms to hug, Though I loved it dearly where it stood, Filling my large, wond’ring eyes. Beneath this tree I placed my bed, Its presence a calm and safe one, Quite suitable for sleeping under If you’re little and alone. Upon its lower branches I hung faerie lights To give it another air…

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“Universe” by Nicole Moon

U·ni·verse (n.) i. They say the universe first became thirteen billion years ago when everything the cosmos came to be, collided with itself. Long before my bones married your bones, you and I, we used to be nothing more than lost atoms, looking for a place to call home. Between us, the first time our paths crossed was long before the ribcage of my skeleton became the prison of my heart and before your teeth sunk into my skin. We danced together long before we were embodied beings and long before I could fathom upon abstract concepts, let alone feel…

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untitled poem by Massimo Stirneri

to carry on toward                             the young to come to the aid departed.   inscriptions  as trophies Sidenotes: 1. his own King                 from his father’s abidcation 2. 3.             second son of                         second wife 4.                                                     when young.…

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“circa (ii)” and “circa (iii)” by Barton Smock

circa (ii) ghost stories: sleep learns to eat quickly.  an ice-cream truck drops in on the ocean. circa (iii) it came over me like a face that maybe god was ugly a.m., the half-life of a country ghost p.m., chainsmoker of blindness the woman who drugs the saw Barton Smock lives in Columbus, Ohio.  He writes daily at kingsoftrain.wordpress.com, self publishes prolifically via his author spotlight on Lulu, and recently had a chapbook, infant*cinema, published by Dink Press.

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“You’d Think I Was Boy Crazy” and “The Inside of my Mouth is Covered in Sores” by Amelia Kester

You’d Think I Was Boy Crazy Aside from the stones, the coins in his mouth. None of the boys I write about are real. He lies back on a messy bed and puts his hands up, over, makes a cat’s cradle with a yo-yo. He’s never slept. He’s drooling mint. He has never seen the ocean and I can make him do whatever I want. He has arms for lacing over chests. You’d think I was boy crazy. I’m busy. I’m climbing up the mountain. I pick up little pieces of fire I find as I walk along the trail…

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untitled art by Ana Prundaru

Ana Prundaru is a Romanian transplant in the birthplace of milk chocolate, who splits her free time between creative endeavors and volunteering for animal welfare causes. Recent work is forthcoming from DIAGRAM and the Journal of Compressed Creative Arts.

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“old wood” by tom reed

old wood sound wood     hollow, solid shell holding mind & sighing leaf above        ? skin on the rough bark hands on solitude ( damn the oak, the pine, the cedar, & the yew ) forest where time runs down finding quiet of shadow & pouring rain!, down thick . feet bare in wet moss under the hanged skeleton within our cemetery forest ( damn the larch, the elm, & the weeping willow ) it is night aeternum,     autumnal flowers die with these deep wind wrought polished              …

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