There, a Light

seen and reflected

shone and spread

swearing on its own existence

pass

To leave before it arrives I

cannot feel There, a Light...

and but she so sure

of them and it and all had flown

defined and box

or capsize typed in precipice artifice stature

with a hand (ours?) the corner of a page

turned-bent over

it could be argued for us fucks

by Isaac Johnson

there is purpose growing inside her belly

the move of a tongue over lips over teeth

what we always wanted

but never knew we

had

found the song of our ripple (the tendencies)

in this sea

before we had a mouth (and heard like things of industry)

before we had a heart

ethereal decipherment of ourselves

while we were in womb then set out just to find it again

it was in ourselves!

it was in ourselves (all along)

we were home

before we headed out to placed ourselves in gone

and others all saw the things we left behind

impatience was formed

left right

/before we just got borned

by Oliver Morse

modele

a back-shouldered blonde

who struts sturdy

ready to murder

the brute brunette

curtsies, correctly

for the cut camera

angle. glued heel clear

tight jeans torn to a T

grinny! grinny! she purrs

pretty.

on the TeeVee her eye

glistens, and the pearls

in her gums bite gritty.

no jewels but décolletage

no crystal band –

her plain hand

canvas for the silk brush.

but her coloring – all wrong

the judges

not quite there

in british

does she want it

enough? her skin kills

to be worn right.

by Marina Blitshteyn

Mechanical

When I told my mother

She was smoking

Ashes fell softly every time she tapped the filter

Her eyes sunk like stones in river water

Her eyes melted like wax around the flame

Her fingers moved like spider legs

navigating silk

She spun her words, weaved them into the space between us

But I sat silent, stayed still

Watched her mouth, eyes, and fingers work

When I told my father it was raining

The sky hung low and heavy

He was driving and he kept driving

Kept his face towards the road ahead

And there was only the sound

Of windshield wipers clearing his view,

Mechanical

swish swish

swish swish

by Mary Sarsfield