OCTOBER 2017
Talia Roberts
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Jesse Lewis
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Katie Super
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Honeymilk
by Laura Garland
I wanted To talk to you But You Wouldn't Pick up the phone. I wanted To write you a love letter But You Only Checked your e-mail. I wanted To mention you But You Were On a social media cleanse. I wanted To scribble a note to you and slide it onto your desk in the middle of Algebra class But You Only Read things printed in Helvetica Neue. I wanted To show you the world But You Only Shop local, y'know? I wanted To rip out my heart and serve it to you on a bed of rice But You Were Trying this new vegan thing. Do you want to know what I'm trying to say? I wanted To tell you How I want to push boundaries How I want to teeter at the edge How I want to trip over the precipice of my art Into something new But You Only Like Rupi Kaur poems
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“Scratches” by Clara Ortega
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Caroline Klein
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UNREAL CITY or: a brush with the insomniatic sublime
By Tommy Fitzgerald
48 hours
the alarm clock across the room flashes:
sic semper somnum
courtesy of the figures, cloaked in dirt, who walk in my periphery and steal my loose change
brought to you, as with most things
by our sponsor: serotonin
to my left (right?) the window pane is
stained glass and a holy infant writhes in his trough
GRINNING and
caked in shit
one of them died on my windowsill
(as beings do)
entombed in granite and laughing as she went
i saved her for the crueller months, suspended in a jar of spinal fluid with a
bouquet of melatonin bullets
II. messages
YOUR CALL HAS BEEN FORWARDED-
Profanity
breathe in (air)
a few more thumb movements and
exhale (sulfur)
YOUR CALL HAS-
“dammit.”
III. the troubadour
he was a somnambulist.
a writer of fictions and half-truths
who found comfort in any words that weren’t his own
his processional wear was stuffed with stillborn notebooks,
the prose of his youth was a small bouquet of hyacinths,
left to wilt on language’s doorstep.
eventually verbiage rotted his tongue
his songs turned to polyps in his throat
pink matter turning to black
HE BEGAN TO SING:
IV. the horror
UNREAL CITY, reveal to me my earthen companions
replace my stolen possessions with blessings of
more than six hours at a time
whisper your eldritch brilliance
until my brain hums HALLELUJAH
recompense for the blurry hours with dreams of
shantih, shantih, shantih, shantih
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“Demon Skulls” and “French Kiss” by Rat King
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January 21, 2017
by Maddie Baxter
To the sandstone, I march
burnt toasted patterned
walking my fingers along
the trace.
Sandstone ripples
flesh slice of cake
slipped icing sticks dif-
erences smoothly.
I march because
I must.
Away traffic cones
condense clustered
flippitant, neon,
artificial, stagnant,
overwhelming.
Keep me up the cone stream
-less a pin ball
chime - and - bell
pull a lever, left leg
, right leg
ring finger, belly button
couplets tattooed on
underarms.
Deodorize your most
romantic thoughts.
Strike a pose for
the infantry line.
Line up with the sandstone
and wait for someone to
pick brown from grey.
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Leeden Rukstalis
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“The most terrifying fact about the universe
is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent.” – Stanley Kubrick
looking down
by Russell Lawrence
i'm sitting
on the steps
looking down.
there and then slugs left
scum behind their tails
inching forward.
so slowly
they crawled
and i watched them
pretending to be
their god,
a good god.
but all around me
are more, little gods.
maybe they moved
without caution in their steps
maybe it was too dark
for them to see
maybe they didn’t care
about the slugs at their feet.
all that’s certain
is i’m sitting now
on the steps
looking down.
the slugs are inching
forward
to empty carcasses,
but not to mourn.
to feast.
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CLICK HERE to listen to “I Loved You” by Gio
“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did. People will never forget how you made them feel.”
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