For Paradox 5

by Matt O'Toole

Like an emptied box of cutlery, Eugene's body falls twisted, limbs woven around themselves.
Their dry mouths had one other held hostage.
His milk white neck embracing her fingers gently like blue tack.
They step back from each other, his smile pricking pale balloon pink cheeks,
He dives in her deep inkwell pupils, swimming in thick road tar black ink.
A heavy tear grows in the corner of her eye and rests on her cheek.
Water streams down the steps thowing cutlery either side,
Buckets of ink dry to chalk and dust.

She steps over his fallen twisted wire body,
staring at his white flour caked face,
and smudged crimson lips,
staring into his marble green eyes,
She thinks of when they met at Oul' Butters,
A singed smile in her siren face,
At old butters, where he held her, glowing and tall.
After everything since then, he's just put a barrel to his head,
and painted all 4 walls.

I AM

For I am the life and death.
For I am the sun and the darkness.
I am the power of love and I am the darkness among others.

I am the time and stars.
I am the song which is sung very far.

I am not an energy nor entity.

I am neither of any religion or soul.

I am the message of the beloved.

I am the brother and the father.

I am the love and the hate.

Sometimes, I am nothing but emptiness.

I am the sex to multiply time and again.

I am the number added over zero.

I am the quality of mankind.

I am

I am the friend and foe.

I am the sin and sinner.

I am the silence and crowd.

I am the sadness and pain.

I am neither any of human words nor human deeds.

I am

Just I am

Maybe I am

Let us say, I am, I will be, I was.

So, here I am, here I belong, in this moment of complete solitude

Because I was, I am, and I will be.

by Santosh Kalwar

*http://kalwar.com.np/

Open

by Lara Konesky

proximity can't fuck with muse
it only hurts the physical
only hurts a little
don't even tell me where your home is
unless I open my legs
and it's there

Life is a sad-slow movie with subtitled romance*

by Kristina Marie Darling

And here, Kodak picturesque, my love,
the streets do not end with a damsel taken
her legs splayed and small bills scattered like leaves.
In this strange place, darling,
we dream drugged yellow haze and burlesque shows.
It is so beautiful here I don’t ever want to land.
Someone brings flowers to me in cameo
and the credits fade, with you the dead agnostic
myself left to catch crystals
of methamphetamine cold in your breath.


*from Kristina's chapbook "The Traffic in Women" from Dancing Girl Press

CATAWAMPUS

by Kallima Hamilton

Exuberant beatniks in angst-black turtlenecks,
secretly dreaming of sunlight and waffles,
scrounge their pockets for rhythmic shards
of keen poetry and wailing laments.

Blow those blues, Daddy-O, blow those blues.
Fresh young trees spitting gold cold leaves
on urban decay, the way you do a John Wayne
with a cigarette into this cement gutter
covered with wet newsprint and remnant fries.

It's all neon and Pepto-Bismol from here.
Some fungi swiped your tree frogs.
Sweet confetti of annihilation,
save us from the garish fate
of baboon-butt bright self love.

DISCARDED SOCIAL BURDEN

by Junie Moon

Faint rays of sunlight
through a tiny window
caught the spinning
prism, rainbows danced ’round
that tin can trap called home

Ha, just think, mobile home,
mobile suggesting it would move.
That old bucket hadn’t moved
in thirty years sitting
in grammies back yard

Feeling trashy was easy
when picking up
food stamps each month
was the high point of life

Even worse, the way
people look when
getting groceries,
some folks look away
others look on in disgust

One step above homeless,
a refugee, a pariah,
unwanted, used up, just one
more name on the welfare list

Finally she heard the baby crying,
so distant, strange, unreal,
all alone, disconnected from all
other life forms

Poverty and neglect
suffocating her;
strangling a tattered
will to live.

Just a little light of hope
would, perhaps, give
enough strength to keep moving

Long ago she had given up on God
or any other type of salvation,
redemption surely did not know
her address but the bill collectors did

If only she could just leave,
yes, leave this ALL behind
She went down to the river
most every day when
the baby slept

The water, sparkling, golden,
freedom soaring where the
sky crosses the water

LUST BLOWING UNDER THE DOOR, BRIGHT AS STRAW

by Lyn Lifshin

Your smile’s like sun
flowers he said
as tho
embarrassed his
hands were
pressing
awkwardly the
ring on his
second finger
close to her
eyes
from that room
a wheat sea
lust
blew under the
door bright
as straw
and his warm
parts on
her belly
those small
bones that
changed her
small
bones to water
And not even
knowing
his name
until later
when the floor
fell
the room
turned into a
painting
and the paint
cracked

*Lyn's website: http://www.lynlifshin.com/books.htm

The Big Shiny Prison

by Ryan Bartek

Here's a PDF "non-fiction counterculture book" by Ryan Bartek called The Big Shiny Prison. It's a free download.

And another The Silent Burning.

*http://ryanbartek.angelfire.com/blog/

BECAUSE

by Jonathan Hayes

it’s the sadness
of sulfur, or
the fact that
suicides are just
statistics, that
makes me want
to love you, while
i still exist, and
fill in that empty
four-letter word
with all my blood
and breath

Westy bar

by Ben Smith

No one likes the juke box

and any time it's on

the locals ask to have

it shut off.

Every one drinks alone

but in company

and quietly

sip at their beer

with the thunder

of loneliness.

Every time the door opens

people snap their heads

and look to see if it might

be some one who they

know and will break them

from the annoying and

tedious conversation

they are having with people

they hate.

The old dudes that read from

glasses

and

they

have grey hair.

Putting 10 buck bets on every race.

Any thing to elude them from

the outside

and make belive

that it's okay to be this

old and

drunk and

lonely

and un afraid

of death

or something

like it.