Genesis
- anon
unicorns exist
- anon
unicorns were known to tread delicately
dropping like the snowflakes
that fell and danced
on her porch in the winter
but they were never real
they can’t be
they were too mysterious
and untouchable
the little girl watched such
revelations fall beyond her
behind her and below her
and didn’t notice
that a shiny coat of white
and a horny littered with love
was approaching her
behind her back
issue 6: ποιέω "to make" vol. 1
issue 5: meta
issue 20: aftermath
Retirement. (haiku)
- n.b. (bio)
Tired hands fumble
with the clasp of an old bra—
elm trees groan at night.
Let Me In So I Can See
- a.k. (bio)
Her emotions drowned away by the end of the bottle
The blaring of the music is her acoustic coddle
Why is she running?
Where is she running to?
Aren’t I enough for you?
For you to forget the pain
That you numb away
When your jaw is done for the day
I love you, Mom
Can you hear that?
What can I do to bring you back?
Who are those inner demons?
Were you beaten, stopped from dreamin’, some other reason?
Let me in so I can see
What is the pain you wish to free
From which you run so desperately
So I can be there for you and you for me
So you no longer hurt me
And we can finally BOTH be free
I only ever write about sex and hangovers
- adg.w (bio)
Comedown music lifts my skin flakes
and allows them to float with the updraft
to standing neck height,
where they dissipate.
Infinity is the gap between the skirting and carpet,
the longer I stare and twitch,
the tighter fix it has on our reality
those chair legs are big on your belly,
that waste paper basket is screaming to be burnt,
but I can't get up
under this tent of blue,
in this pre-noon light that's denying the ceiling
it's capacity for being opaque
stripped of it's frequency, it urges me to stop calling
and if it would pick up,
the dial tone birds would stop talking
about sex
and sweat,
and the viscosity of bodily fluids
and how they taste in the car park
whether or not the suspension knows
and if he cares,
he cares not to stand in the way.
When You Think Of Me
- anon
When you think of me
Do you think of silly laughs
And lazy days under sheets.
Or do you think of how I was your sanctuary to
hide from the world
When it got too much.
Or do you think of wasted years
Of time spent chasing a dead end
Punctuated by vicious rows.
Maybe when you think of me
All you feel is pity, perhaps regret.
Or maybe, worst of all, you do not think of me at all.
Mini Landscape 9
- anon
end of issue 20. go back to issues page.
Mini Landscape 10
- anon
the poetry juicebox
an international poetry & art publication
