Coyote for SJ Tucker

by Jessica Otto

the words travel across the page in a folk song your voice bleeds sunset following the line down a drop of ink on your tongue a body stumbles against the rumble strip a casualty of wandering and diesel fumes skinned haunches and shattered nose point towards the ragweed the beginning of the line dresses itself in a drop of ink a hemorrhage here is the horizon bleeding down generations of sunrises and sunsets light comes up light goes down when you lick the paper the road allocates the flesh of the coyote absorbs blood bone and skin stretched to a fine film between the rumble strip and the verge the road stretches out sniffs with a dead thing’s nose gulps rainwater through broken teeth

Dimly Lit Room

by Rebecca Miller

Darkness fell -so did my slip, dress and heels.
He switches off the lights, I turn them on.
Absinthe scorches my lips, his thighs.
We tango hip to hip, my feet never touch the floor.
He trademarks my neck with his teeth.
Green nymphs parade across his shoulders as we dance.
Fast, slow, matching, pacing.
His smirk, a result of my rowdy lament.
Multiplication is my specialty.
Bound, by his coarse hands and palatable cologne.
I am useless.
He divulges my fabrications like a theatre production.
Ribbon working like chains, and it's his turn to bat.
I tease, he begs, I relish.
Edging too close, I bring him down.
Finishing line crossed,
He leaves me wanting.
A migraine replaces ecstasy's face.

Icarus

by Marc Carver

I told her

that nothing could hurt me.

I had drunk enough

to kill most men

been in lots of tight scrapes.

My luck had run out a few times

but in the end

it had all worked out okay.

Sometimes you really can feel immortal

and on other days

well

you sail            just that little           too close to the sun.

Knock. Knock.

by Peter Franklin

To you I might be
nothing – discarded, outcast refuse
washed up on your pristine beach.
I am mysterious, unknown, and am unable
to communicate how terribly hungry –
hay hambre – yo lo tengo - I am,
or how fearful I am – hay miedo – that I
have nowhere to go, and no idea
whether my family made it out or not.
Alone.
Solo.
Nadie.
“Next,” you sneer.  “Cockroach.”
Cucaracha? I don’t think so…in my country
I was a successful businessman –
a lawyer – abogado – but like everyone you
see here, stretched out before you,
I chose to leave…was forced to leave…chase a
dream to live without fear. Without persecution.
Either that or die, over and over again.
We are now all the same, but I am no cockroach.
If you just let me in – I am healthy, you see –
strong teeth, clear eyes…my beautiful hazel eyes…
I will make you proud, and will give
you no problems – you won’t even know I am here.
Invisible –
a shadow – la sombra.
Perhaps you could look at my form one more time,
and maybe while you are looking over there
At that colicky baby – el nino - crying and carrying on
(does the echo in this hall bother you, too?)
perhaps I could slip through this…how do you say…
torno de entrada – and find my way out.
I have this uncle, you see, and surely
I can find him and he will take me in.
I am more than you think I am.

Refusing Free Will

by A.J. Huffman

I am the rose
trapped
inside your empty bottle.
I will not grow.
I cannot die.
I have not air enough
to be anything
but plastic.
You toss me a dollar.
And place your wish.
As blood beads --
red --
on my thorns.
It hurts less
than I thought it should.
Which leads me
to believe.
It is yours.

Sunday Morning

by Will Monigold

Again.
I tried to end
The world last night.
I think I’ve run far enough.
The thing about rain
Is that it makes
Everything look clean.
I suppose it’s the way she
Holds her mouth
When she kisses me.
I was born to be a fool
I had to have been
Otherwise my tools
Would fit
I could fix things.
I can still smell her
Still feel her.
I wish I was still
Pressed against
Her breasts.