Steven D. Schroeder
this was not the time to start / that argument, what with the sucking / chest wound
Here the keys fit no locks / Not that I have keys
My Older Sister & My Younger Sister
My older sister ate all of herself in tiny bites, / until only a mouth & teeth remained
Gravy flinger, / would
We fat ass nymphs twerk / in frenetic acts of reclamation.
Dena Rash Guzman
how about a little spooning honey
We’ll have no money soon & honey / I lost the old version of what was, the not his
Invocation of the Wisdom of Objects
O spoon! / Sing in me the whorled air / of your thumbprint bow
She and the house rattle plenty.
We squirm loose gap-toothed / with a neck mole tossing its locks / in the wind
I Explore to Write Home About It
Many light-voids make me blind at night— / I hope I will be without many snakes’ teeth.
100 Questions for the Presidential Debates
58. What existed before time? / 59. What are wasps for?
How to love one’s neighbor in this bullhorn rain / Because the innocent children because innocence
THE FATHER HAD HIS OWN IDEAS REGARDING GOD
Laughter upon hearing the insolent words / The moon being timid and poorly timed
robert andrew perez
it read more as an orgiastic cuddle-fest, really / than it did an orgy.
Black Friday Night
My jade plant start loves the logic / of streetlamps.
On the hottest days I saw love this way, like the crunch and pull, the thirst.
Get Insomnia, Wave Me Away: A Binary Confessional at the Chew and…
Froth on Yojimbo’s desk. / A decaf set out, let loose.
My earliest memory / is stepping out of a / long white Cadillac / and landing in your mouth
joan naviyuk kane
The Mother of All
You dreamt I walked once, / across the ice, to find you.
Habitat and Diet
Home is too far away; I could never find it now. / California wiped my nose clean.
my confessions will begin / in the book of deserts
Poem for Orlando
I want to imagine / the way they were / dancing.
Sky Burial #46
the solution to loneliness swallowed— / to save the city burn the city down
Kyle John Crawford
Sound was summered and snowed. / Ankle-deeped rill stood for standing / still
What We Were Talking About
Because the body / of time and love / is not just a carcass; / it lives –
Almost 40 Weaponized and Unstoppable.
At almost 40 I will never be their darling. / I am the loud mouthed destroyer.
A Tsunami Can Happen At Any Time
Here the sand is black and the shoreline / covered with bright blue jellyfish
Dena Rash Guzman
rougher than you can know
I’m quiet in the kisses I stop / only a truckload of flowers / will rouse me
ALL THE FUZZ BOXES IN THE WORLD COULD NOT SAVE ME
A life in boxes / Shut, sealed
we are better
words come with shaking knees swarms of bees / in fair weather our hands tethered together
BLOWING SMOKE AT THE MOON IN PORTLAND, OREGON
That long-form vim by whose / blood & glow the galaxies once got lit – / we can’t do that anymore.
Humans at Blackwater River
we are contained in the light we need / nature grows indifferent in the dark
Shadab Z. Hashmi
Ghalib lists thirty-eight varieties of mangoes in his letters
The poet finds names of mangoes / in the folds between empires
A Message from your Mode
Please smoke only if part of you / burns uncontrollably.
what we lift / from the vine and take inside us / is not only sweet firmness / but back ache and blemish
tonight, there’s an egg on the counter, just one, sitting perfectly still
Sara Renee Marshall
Letters for Others: JAC
It’s not clear how we walk: what into, what from. You, stranded from a mother, mothering.
After all the ways I have pictured sickness / how can I help but empty out?
You and I: Mask and Mask
You are the God-made image of God / I am a flat-faced ape with an overgrown brain
In a moment the world will release / the wreckage of one rose
I HAD GIVEN UP HOPE OF FINDING SOMEONE WHO LOVED THE WORLD AND…
To put it more delicately: I want you to fuck / the fiscal responsibility out of me.
A vein along the road poised to spill.
Empty Plate with Sword
Fueled first by love, then anger. / Grief collects like dreamed-about coals.
A Good Catholic Confession
We glow with American sin / and we’ve led thoughtful lives.
© Ink Node, 2018