on the pursuit

aware, be/ware, the aware of halloween nights where the back of your skin crawls with again-witch, the aware of the first snowfall you watch alone, the aware of a paper cut, the aware of knowing the cat is in the room but it doesn’t like to be pet so you just have to watch it. the aware of pen lights, of fridays, of cracked ribs. the aware of i hurt you once, i won’t do it again. the aware of first time holding hands, the aware of nine hundredth circle on her spine, the aware of spotted zoo animal and the aware of an open blue sky.

“how does she make you feel?” you ask.

🌼 1-3 poems

🌼 no more than 2 long poems, five pages each

🌼 short poems must be 1-2 pages each

the book of May is what May is to you, your memories, what has happened & what will happen. fiction or not, what we imagine is part of us & what we dream will happen has happened somewhere already

underlying theme, the incomprehensible passage of time

moods include but not limited to: 7/11, blossomed fields & trees, how it felt to be slapped across the face, hair clips, tiny pink plastic fans, marble, moss, & vines covering the House, the death of god, Chloé white romantic dresses & snakeskin mini, iced coffee, disposable shaving razors, hard drugs, no vodka, dropping off bags of old clothes to goodwill, spending all day outside, local church closed for construction, smoking a cigarette beside the road, silver sequin bucket bags, night clubs with good music, hair gel, daisies, Mary Magdalene, the excitement of responsibility, the commitment to health, kitten heels, the reclamation of the female body, the reckoning of all women on their men, pick up trucks, the subway grates of New York City, billboards, the death of the inner child self, the embrace of heaven, toothpicks, cucumber water, chantilly lace

🌸Deadline: May 23

🌸Submit poems & inquiries to [email protected]

Rudy Francisco, “If I Was a Love Poet”

Performing at his book release party at Icehouse in Minneapolis. HELP SUPPORT BUTTON POETRY.

hey remember when we were half asleep on your bed and we were talking on your pillow and our bodies were on fire but we were pretending not to like each other and halfway between sex jokes and personal confessions i finally said the truth and it hung between us like a bad taste in the mouth and you said “do you mean that” 

Fragments of Prayers from Saint Joan to the Archangel Michael by Keaton St. James