Breathe. By Alex Z. Salinas

for George Floyd

My brother, 

My beauty,

I can’t breathe

When I hold back the

Black rain

Stacked with cosmic 

Grace, greenhouse 

Rage,

I can’t breathe, 

Beautiful brother, 

Your grasp is tight & I 

Long to hold back the

Fevered saturate

Inching down my

Neck

Vise-gripped by

Trigger fingers I

Noticed could use a

Clean clipping, a

Lover’s light 

Kiss,

Brother, 

My beauty, 

I can’t breathe 

When you squeeze

Down 

With the contempt of

Ira who razed her life

Mad & rife with rabies, 

Baby, 

Homie from another

Mother,

I can’t breathe

When you never

Let me go—

O sweet brother,

Zealous judge of soul,

Won’t you pretty please with a 

cherry in the chamber,

Please let me go?

Alex Z. Salinas lives in San Antonio, Texas. He is the author of WARBLES, a full-length poetry collection from Hekate Publishing (2019), and Dreamt, a limited-edition chapbook from Analog Submission Press (2020). His poems, short fiction and op-eds have appeared in various print and electronic publications, and he serves as poetry editor for the San Antonio Review. He holds an M.A. in English Literature and Language from St. Mary’s University.

Strange Trip By Wayne Russell

Something has a stranglehold on me,
the world is a ball of yarn spinning in
decomposition, lava lamp eyes rolling
waves, she is pulling something and I
cannot breathe, I can not see, it's dark.

Love held the flame and burned the
house down! Can you hear a dandelion
chain, gnashing of teeth, wooden shoes
clacking heels? It's cold here in her arms.

Death brandished a sharp razor-like
reaper, her eyes plummeted cascade,
liquid steel euphoria. One by one there
they go into premature graves, engulfed
by the flatness of fatherless earth. 

Can you see the kaleidoscope birds flying
backwards into their leafless trees? Can
you see lost years escape cold, from your
tar pit druid escapades?

The liquid gods drove me into this state
of madness, but I broke free and escaped,
Floridian son, drowning as one, this life is
a strange venture, a florescent trip.

Wayne Russell hails from Florida in the US, but has never settled anywhere. He has been writing dark musings most of his life, his debut poetry book Where Angels Fear is now available Amazon.

Gradual Slide. By Jonathan Butcher

On a slow slide, till the decline expands

and makes itself my home. It's trinkets

and comforts offer that short hit of relief,

a constant loop that is far to easy to maintain.

A streak of luck justifies this rut, a payout

that keeps the momentum afloat.

light slices through those blinds like stiff drinks

though boredom, again barley excusing

those pointless means.

I begrudgingly praise those who escape,

with the usual back handed dissidence,

believing I have stockpiled the excuses

that are perishing under this weight,

and are running rather thin.

Jonathan Butcher was born and lives in Sheffield, England. 

He has been writing poetry for around fifteen years, and has

had work appear in various print and online publications.

His Third chapbook 'Corroded Gardens' was published in 2019

by Fixator Press.

Sour Sunday. By Dan Provost

The shadows of

buildings hurt on

Sunday afternoon.

It sabotages small

freedom—our opportunity

to quiet those large

doubts in your head…

The bar is not an option today.

Drinking the nightmare of the coming week

off your mind is a Friday and Saturday

show.

No escape to the land of imagined

plenty today

We wait for the lurch

of marching orders on Sunday…

Knowing that your time is just about up.

Walking around the city, past

the office you will be enslaved

in tomorrow—

Beings begin to decry the norm…

Stomachs turn sour, souls deteriorate

into chosen hatred…

But it is those damn 4 PM shadows

that haunt…

The realization that stress, headache…

Depression.

Mortality.

Will fill your existence…

Starting at 9 AM

Back to necessary

             normalcy…

God, how I hate it.

Dan Provost's poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years.  Some recent publications include: Ariel Chart, Poetical Review, Merak Magazine, Oddball Magazine, Deuce Coupe, Misfit Magazine, the Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press and the Dope Fiend Daily.  He has two books coming out in 2020.  Under the Influence of Nothingness by Kung Fu Treachery Press and Rattle of a Realizer, published by Whiskey City Press.  He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura and dog Bella.

A While Ago. By Jonathan Butcher

The first of many long afternoons,

distanced at the end of the bar

before opening. The kitchen gradually

warming up for my shift, my uniform

inappropriate for these darkened

surroundings.

As the day moves on, my fatigue

like a stone laden blanket that grinds

bone and muscle to a paste, that is

diluted only by each minute that attempts

to reach the end.

Over the heat of ovens, the rest of the staff

avoid eye contact, as my night previous seems

apparent; I murmur away any accusations

with all the subtlety of a brick-embedded

window.

The bustle and steam overwhelm any contact,

as your eyes glance over and remain blank

so as to disregard my queries. Those we serve

again remain on the outside and await our judgment

once this day expires.

Jonathan Butcher was born and lives in Sheffield, England.

He has been writing poetry for around fifteen years, and has

had work appear in various print and online publications.

His Third chapbook 'Corroded Gardens' was published in 2019

by Fixator Press.

SADIST. By Brian Rihlmann

perhaps forgetting is the 

greatest part of the art of living

but a poet forgets nothing—

in fact he tears open old wounds 

often enough to ensure that they 

never heal...that they

glow angry and red

red as birth and death 

red as blood, heart, and fire

red as red rimmed eyes

after a thousand years of tears

he dips his pen deep 

into their red pools—

a source inexhaustible...

and if he does his job

even those who scoff at 

such trivial things 

such effeminate and useless things 

as feelings

will shiver 

as the words infest

as the words become the hand

drawing back the curtain 

on a secret room 

filled with imprisoned 

and hungry ghosts

that will now

speak

Brian Rihlmann was born in NJ, and currently lives in Reno, NV. He writes mostly semi autobiographical, confessional free verse, much of it on the so-called "grittier" side.  Folk poetry...for folks. He has been published in Constellate Magazine, Poppy Road Review, and has an upcoming piece in The American Journal Of Poetry.

A Pawn. By Wayne Russell

Was it something I said?

Something that I did?

Too much of a thinker?

Should I simplify this process?
 
Am I too moody?
Too emotional?

A poet with his heart upon
his sleeve lost in his misery.  

Am I undeserving to be
loved? 

Just another set up for the fall,
abandon by them one and all.

Wayne Russell hails from Florida in the US, but has never settled anywhere. He has been writing dark musings most of his life, his debut poetry book Where Angels Fear is now available Amazon.