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Blue jay mornings and rhubarb smiles:
mix tapes for going around corners.

A newborn ant has been wonderfully forgotten on the mountain
deep inside the kaleidoscope of warm pastel semitones
drowning in the forest surrounding it

and how I walk past it on my hike, glance at it, and realize
how many millions of others I’ve never noticed
how no one will probably ever notice him 
or his brothers again like this, like I did just now.

My ears are buzzing. My eyes are suspended
in a short film playing only this Thursday.

They clean the streets later on tonight
but we’re on our bikes until
they force us off the streets 
no not necessarily back inside but maybe out into the open
for I think it would be better to stay on the beat
maybe admire the curbmoppers and windowlickers 
and Dali dalmatians cleared of all their spots and inconsistencies 
now they’re ferocious little white terriers chasing us under fences
and for once in our lives we’re the rainbow trout shimmering
in reverb harmonies under the acoustic stream, the caustic meadow,
under the stern of the ship desperate to be caught
perhaps even more desperate to be released again. The steam engine
blows shrill, an aggravated howl of exertion and 
even though all we can hear down here is muted vibrations
we know it’s time to be caught.
I want to be captured for once

(our incandescent swansong)
man when our humanity is packed deep
in the eyes of our pupils for others to see—
visceral in the hues. And when our retinas
are recording their new vision playing Next Thursday
with no film in the camera because we’ll live into
another era if we continue to behave like this
just little static stereoscopic saints

singing something sweet and beautiful to each other

“I love you man—
please don’t let them get to you”

p.s. as usual, like us on Facebook! The more support we have, the more we can support lovely independent and aspiring artists xx

by Ryan Martinez

I close my eyes and I am alone

in the backseat of my dad’s car.

The freeway isn’t loud

enough to drown out

the conversation up front and I wish

I was 400 miles away

where the sun melts 

the air and the wind

reminds me of freedom. 

p.s. as usual, like us on Facebook! The more support we have, the more we can support lovely independent and aspiring artists xx

by Angela Barton

I wait patiently as the Hunger builds. 

by Thomas J. Clark

Tossing up over patched roadway,

On a mild, dead, February night,

We were shooting up to 85 North

From down East on the perimeter.

It was the way back.

My stomach climbed my chest

Like a vine;

Not for the turbulent ride,

Or the highway speed,

But for the heaviness of thirty or so dark miles more,

Pressing my head to the passenger side window,

Cracked enough for the mercy

Of a half-cold wind

To breathe over our still faces.

Every streetlamp on the way

Cast us yellow before our shadows,

Severe and frozen,

When I caught them at every flicker.

I watched you too, even in the darkness between lamps.

You steered and drove onward, with a tired right hand

And straining eyes.

For a few more seconds,

A few more flickers in the dark

As we travelled on, I watched

Your closed eyes

Long enough to take the wheel

And point us straight,

Long enough to realize,

How far we were from halfway home.

p.s. as usual, like us on Facebook! The more support we have, the more we can support lovely independent and aspiring artists xx 

We’ve almost reached our summer goal of 500 followers, so spread the word! 

by Profound Mercenary

It started off a normal day

Kicking it with the cows and dogs

When Farmer Ted

Dragged me to his office

Sorry to say this but you’re moving

HE’s coming tomorrow to take you away

I can’t believe what Farmer Ted just said

HE was the worst thing that

Can happen to an animal like me

HE comes in and takes you away

Then takes you to a factor far away

From all the people you ever loved

HE came and I said my goodbyes

Then was shoved to the back of truck

I was given a shot and fell fast asleep

Next thing I know I was soaked

In bowl while someone chopped me up

Next to the bowl was a box

Shake n Bake

Little by little I was put into a bag of brown batter

Then this mysterious women shook me up and down

Then shoved me in an oven

An hour later I was taken out

Put on a dinner table

To serve a family of four

And that was the last thing I remember

p.s. as usual, like us on Facebook! The more support we have, the more we can support lovely independent and aspiring artists xx

dear artists and art enthusiasts, 

have you checked out our preview issue? (psst…it’s the only issue of ours that will be up online for free, in addition to being available for sale in print…and we print on recycled paper!)

p.s. as usual, like us on Facebook! The more support we have, the more we can support lovely independent and aspiring artists xx

by Anthony Schultz

Today was his sixth birthday—technically he was twenty-four, but who was counting?  After all, Leap Year was a variance—an aberration; it didn’t need to exist; yet it did. 

In his book lethargy was top priority for the day.  He showered, threw on some clothes, popped open a Guinness, but just as he was about to take sip—he let out a slight cough.  It was minute, but he could feel another building.  Suddenly, he dropped his Guinness and before the can could strike the white-checkered linoleum and the second cough had commenced—he was gone. 

Vanished.  Poof.  Non-existent. 

For a nanosecond he felt as if he were underwater, but when he opened his eyes he was kissing a beautiful woman.  Blonde-hair, fair skinned, blue eyes, and his heart skipped forward and proceeded directly past ‘Go!’  He blushed, but the kiss was so tender and intense he fell into it like Skywalker tumbling into the Sarlacc. 

As the two parted, he smiled and, in return, a smile escaped her lips.  He didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten here, but he knew he wanted to stay.  Love at first sight had never been in his paradigm, but in his heart he—poof. 

He was gone. 

He was back in his apartment with a Guinness bubbling at his feet.  He immediately grabbed his coat and was out the door before the can could stop spinning.  He would find the girl—that was the magic of Leap Year.

p.s. as usual, like us on Facebook! The more support we have, the more we can support lovely independent and aspiring artists xx

plathandimages:

 “In water, like in books—you can leave your life.”
In response to Lidia Yuknavitch
by Brittany Leitner

I wish I liked you
or going to the beach
but I promise, I love the idea of it.

I could see us working out
if we could learn to like anywhere else
as much as we like the bar

 But I start to think you’re cute
fiddling for your cherry at the bottom of the glass
and sliding your hand up my thigh

and before I know it
I’ve taken you home again.