Art

Tales of Demons and Agony – Brian Rihlmann

MY DEMONS ARE NOT NIGHT OWLS

i never have nightmares
my demons are not night owls
they don’t sneak out at 3 a.m.
to terrorize me
with their shenanigans

they rise before dawn
when I do
no matter how quietly
i slip out of bed
and tiptoe to the bathroom

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Art

Interiors – Kristine Brown

blessed destination

 

at times I feel that I’ve dropped a
marble while zinnia petals nap on
the ground. their laughter soaked
into the heart of a November snow
cone that stood upright while I
studied a language my father said
I’d never use. a peanut butter jar
still sits on my nightstand. it is
empty, save for a few dozen
pennies that will schedule the flight
that saves me,

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Art

Twice Five Hundred Beats of a Bluebird’s Heart – James D. Casey IV

We fed ice cream to the rats,
dripping with sin, as we
rode cyclops scorpions
made of raccoon bones.

I remember how controversial
the chorus was, under
that otherworldly echo
coming from the scorching sun.

We postulated seven souls
at the naming ceremony
that day.

A narcissistic
determination gifted to us
by the hypochondriac shaman
from the Church of the
Cosmic Skull.

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Art

The Mind Garden – Harley Claes

Entrance to a Line Drawn at the End of the World

 

This was a worship of endless nameless creatures, plant spirits rising.
They drank water from their troughs, lounging nectarine teens fluent in Pali.
At the very ends they meet, ardent children with unwashed feet.
Raised botanists, they were baby bohemians with dirtied flesh.
During the world’s decay, they gathered with fear of impending melodrama-
Breathing in the fragrance of the Earth’s ends,

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