Author name: Horus Amongus

taking the deficit

by Anthony David Vernon

I live a life where I seek shade in sunshine, run from rain, scoff at snow
While you whirl in the wind, waves, and wildfires
Of beaten souls

Trust Fall

by Rosalie Hendon

My friend’s firstborn came out redheaded,
named for something golden
When she was little, she would
throw herself off her parents’ bed
Laughing uproariously

She never felt the pain of gravity,
empty air and hard floor
Someone was always there to catch her

Because there isn’t any difference between ghosts and unwanted men

by Joana Figueiredo

I let you come visit, the same way I let him watch me sleep. He stands quietly by the frame of my door, gazing, stripping me naked with his curiosity. The same way I let him do everything else he does, powerless against it, I am whispering to you, please go away.

The chickens freeze in mid peck and Jeff screams, Jesus is coming

by Karen Walker

Until this, the Second Coming on the 2nd Concession, he drugged and drank, swore horribly and preached, Religion is the opium of the people. Now he’s putting -th on everything. Arrangeth the hens into a cross! Nah. There’s a big hawk in the tree and, besides, my name is Mary.

Revision

by Paul Hostovsky

There used to be
a live chicken in this poem.

There was a mountain
and a sailboat.
The Pacific Ocean

sloshing between stanzas.
And me like Adam
saying ‘Here am I’

to God who was also
near.

Collagist

by Howie Good

The Grand Canal from Panama to France was open again. Beware the pickpockets of Lisbon! “Spell that,” the man on the phone said. My head bobbed about like a balloon on a string. “E,” I started, “as in exoskeleton” when I suddenly felt weirdly detached. The night rolled in. I was breathing like I had scarred lungs. Does good equal saintly? I asked myself. There was once a painter who loved paint so much that he drank a jar of it. It’s called the “path of totality” despite the treachery of words. One drew a knife and shot him.

Chromosome Damage

by Salvatore Difalco

Egad he looks me
up and down and
sideways egad.

The eyes disturb
egad and who is
mother of them?

Mother mother ma
ma mum mummy
mamma mammy.

I do not know why
I feel the way I do
um—check that.

Egad he reaches
his hand my god
his hand egad.

michaelcera.txt

by Mags Brown

She fell in the mill ramona flours
She tends to her hygiene ramona showers
She ate a lemon ramona sours
Ramona devours
She’s out of this world she’s a ramona encounter
She’s six foot two ramona towers
She’s going real fast ramonas per hour
She’s a communist- ramona’s ours
Wait wrong movie
Ramona powers

The Cat

by Johanna Haas

The cat climbed
the basement stairs
with a blue tail hanging
from his mouth.

Prefixes

by Mona Mehas

Take the word, progress
Pro is a prefix
The opposite of pro is con
So, the opposite of progress is Congress

Fountain

by Mona Mehas

A fountain by any other name
is Marcel’s urinal
Duchamp’s latrine
baby boy’s potty
old man’s throne
drunkard’s pisser
European’s loo
every man’s can.
Begs the question, what is art?

Reticence

by Charles J. March III

“San Onofre”

He made hookers steal snooker tables, and his whole body had a toothache.

“Original Nothing”

Always on to something.

“Not Lost on Me”

She drank Baja blasts with Bradley Hexagon and the electric god humanoid design.

“Love”

A couples retreat in Mexico comprised of a Nazi, a Jewish man, and two Hispanic women on either side of the social spectrum, conducted by a Harvard grad, Protestant, Trump supporting immigration reformer.

“COM 101”

How to respond when fuckbois say “Bet.”

“Nursing Homes”

Continental army of incontinence, which we depend on for freedom.

who’s the mutt now?

“For more than a century, the art world has celebrated Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain. His work, simply a urinal signed and dated “R Mutt 1917”, is widely regarded as a pinnacle of 20th-century art, with a replica on display in Tate Modern, London. For some, Duchamp is the father of conceptualism, the so-called art of ideas. For others, he is a charlatan responsible for the demise of traditional artistry…”

is Marcel Duchamp’s greatest work a fake?

gristl’d gr’ease

by Saint Peter

don’t ’bout your wings
or fancy flight
kn’own are your teeth
tear’n unto meat
gristl’d gr’ease
gerund’ing
sour slime
white sinew

don’t ‘ppoint woo
woo wan’t bite
wan’ step shit
of brok’d dreams
ooz’ed hay
fleck’n grief
squish’n
b’tween toes

Before Dawn

by Mona Mehas

Lend me your rattle!
While philosophers harvest addiction
we foster the day,
and work the fieldstones.
An American night boat passes
in the blue hour.

Pegasus/Centaur Confusion

by Mona Mehas

You rush in, rescue mode
white horse, prancing
hooves in the air
ready to go
white angel astride
blue blood visible
in shared veins
wings outstretched
facing backward.

Why such a hurry to meet the future
with the present unresolved?

untitled (elfin thyme)

by Erwin Dink

entropy engine
rich people in a paper mache sub
elfin thyme

i don’t want to hear it

by a frightened boy

i can’t hear you because
i have a bag over my head
a bag made of dried leaves
and mud
and the spittle
from a frightened boy’s chin

untitled

by Mona Mehas

LIFE
confused
labyrinth

word-searched my way through
lines around my eyes, proof
humbled by enormity

individual existence

tasteful words

by Ash K. Gray

And so I dipped my pen in sauce
and wrote some food for thought.
Whatever I laid down, man,
they (?
— — — ?) went ahead and bought.

Little did they ( same they?
— — — — — — — — — — ? ) know that all I did
was dip my pen in fucking sauce and close the lid.

untitled cinquain

by Mona Mehas

Divine
Learn meaning, hope
from message, lust assured
Eclipse our passions, love’s dispute
Bewitched

untitled (screwnail)

by Eric Jennings

poem found folded in a nail pickle jar screwed to the ceiling of the garage like a fortune cookie

December

by Ann and Kirby Kenny

Cold debris,
Confectioners’ sugar,
You are dusted white
As a swarm of
Albino bugs.

Traveling soul,
You move through the body
As a feeling,
And in your cabin,
Woe remains.
Exile

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