She stood in the front
Of the silver and black glass counter.
Her fingers ransacked the perfume,
Stone skin reflecting in the onslaught
Of mirrored ads and a solo saleswoman –
Ms. Fake Green Eyes was fond
Of a particular smell called Trauma or Mercy,
Some obscure name meant
To bore temptation like eggs from an roc’s nest.
Fake Eyes presses down on the black and gold
Read more "Mr. and Mrs. Medusa at the Macy’s Perfume Counter"
Spray top, a mist pours down onto my wife’s wrist,
The aftershock of a coastal storm – two presumed lost.
The sunset is made of gold. It is
made of gold, the sunset, this sunset.
It is made of gold—pure gold spills down the mountainside
and I kneel before the mountainside’s golden
Kneel on the stone and burn this image into my forsaken
Read more "The Cup of Trembling"
brain, sear gold onto my retinas, behind its sackcloth
consciousness (made of gold, it is made
of pure gold—this sunset—made of, made of, made of the quintessent
February morning I face the brittle air
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checklist in mittened hand
two male Dark-eyed Juncos
one Northern Cardinal, male
a flock of Black-eyed Chickadees.
I estimate forty
mindful of the growing dawn.
Seventy languages heard
Read more "Broadcast"
in the bazaar of Dioscurias,
today’s tower of Babel
streaming terrible news.
Spleens vented and faux miracle cures,
the process a disembodied entity.
A dunce in his dark corner,
pulling out a plum.
Tales of the demi-demon’s hellfire.
The annals of blah.
When fear and ignorance wed
the fools’ opinion bred.
Affirmation #207 This is the time When you understand That no one is coming. There is no horse in the distance. No woman dressed like she’s in a mystery novel, lurking in the final train car, about to turn your life into a hero’s journey with an ash of her cigarette. This is also the […]
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Below is Part 9 of 16 monthly installments for Visitant. ◄◄ Read the prologue / introduction ◄ Read Part 8: Holding Patterns: Dowries Lateral dots et alia, I ditch anterior peruke, reconfigure dorsal ballast, and streamline for cultural pursuits as sleuth Dot Motley, Esq. Suited in dated sharkskin, I minimize drag and launch forward in full […]
Read more "The Jill Hill | Deep Nectar: Rendezvous"
Amor Fati “you cannot flee from yourself.” C. G. Jung, The Red Book Hello imp, Hello demon, tormentor, friend. You are dear to me. I wear you like a cap of wires, live snakes that needle me, jam fire down each nerve, make me hop to. You are a match, scraped up and down my […]
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The Little People Three little people hang out on the the edge of my bookshelves quietly reading the life history of corvids the courtship of red-tails light on yoga a book of Celtic legends and Anglo-Saxon riddles. They cross their feet in zazen, permission granted to enter the narrows, follow the ways of shelf elves. […]
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Andreas Block is a young transfeminine writer based in the Chicagoland area, pursuing a BA in Creative Writing at Beloit College. They enjoy exploring a wide range of genres in their writing, from poetry to sketch comedy. They are also a performer, having acted in a number of theater productions throughout their collegiate career. If God & […]
Read more "If God & Satan Were Pals"
Robert Walton is a retired middle school teacher and a lifelong rock climber with many ascents in the Sierras and Pinnacles National Park. His publishing credits include works of science fiction, fantasy and poetry. Walton’s historical novel Dawn Drums won the 2014 New Mexico Book Awards Tony Hillerman Prize for best fiction and first place […]
Read more "Well of Souls"