Art

Two Poems – Gwil James Thomas

Fuck It. 

It’s the crucifix on the hilltop –  
now silhouetted against the sunset. 

The dead pigeon on the road getting 
flattened again and again.

The room that’s now far too hot to sleep in, 
as the sun still lingers 
in these sultry Spanish streets. 

The giant of a man dressed in a clown suit
casually wandering up to the dumpster as he
looks inside it for god knows what,

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Art

Fates of Fathers For Sons – Chuck Harp

It’s always been cold in your father’s shadow.
Friends and followers, damned with the doomed
trapped in a zone of fallen dreams,
of pulsating desires, never to be achieved.
Demons, past and present
lurk in Desire’s looming darkness
sleeping on cinders of spoon-fed failures
like sitting inside nightmares.
The walls close in tightly
like lying in a drawer of the morgue.

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Art

The Bottom a Long Way Down – James D. Casey IV

The Devil came to me
in a dream,
and sold his fucking
soul to me.

He is my marionette now.
I pull
the strings tied to
his bones.

I’ve tasted fire,
and I’m ready
to rule now, not
waiting for the

afterlife
to take my place upon
the throne.
Time to pack it in,

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Art

Here – Kai Edward Warmoth

I.
It was likely 2009, the first encounter,
(although this is only a faint attempt
to grab at black pools of memory
and tether them to temporality). To admit:
it was wholly unremarkable.
A rurally-situated living room;
a facade for bonfires, circled by youth.
And you held a guitar and sang,
the fingertips of a false English accent,
swirling like wax from the melted crayons
of your influences.

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