Collect Them All by Casey Renee Kiser

Twirling the breeze like it’s cotton candy,
I’m not the one they marry-
Every thirsty Thursday and drowned Sunday,
I collect them all and carry

The gypsy heart is too romanticized;
Whispers that scream down your spine
Never the hellfire pain that’s advertised,
only dancing with the wine

A heart; just another collectible
Sun surrenders to the Moon
Sad songs sync heavy stones into our blood,
and Mr. Midnight to noon

--

Casey Renee Kiser is a punk poet with a horror-quirk-twist. Her new release Altered States of The Unflinching Souls with fellow indie poet, J. J. Campbell is due out late Summer 2024, and Confessions of A D3AD Petal early Spring 2025. She runs a small independent press in Kentucky.

In the Water by Jerome Berglund

                    dollar general little bighorn

                    crisis actors bull mastiff

                    ill fated skunk white lines

                    new all-time high fentanyl

                    going through motions the heavens

--

Jerome Berglund has worked as everything from dishwasher to paralegal, night watchman to assembler of heart valves. Many haiku, haiga and haibun he’s written have been exhibited or are forthcoming online and in print, most recently in bottle rockets, Frogpond, Kingfisher, and Presence. His most recent collection of poetry "Eleusinian Solutions" was just released by Mōtus Audāx press!

poem by Wayne F. Burke

telephone pole, where the hanged swing
above the treeline
as warning to the sun
to keep this cold land
cold--
the frozen limbs of trees
agree
with everything that is said;
chimneys send up smoke signals
that only mountains
can read.

--

Wayne F. Burke's poetry has been widely published in print and online (including in DISTURB THE UNIVERSE). He is author of 8 published poetry collection and one book of short stories. He lives in Vermont.

A New Set of Suckers by J.J. Campbell

there have been several
women from france
contact me in the last
couple of weeks

i suppose the russians
have found a new set
of suckers to portray

they all say i am
handsome and they
want to be the mother
of my children

that makes me laugh

if they knew my history

they would volunteer
to pay for the vasectomy

--

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, Horror Sleaze Trash, Mad Swirl, The Beatnik Cowboy and The Rye Whiskey Review. His most recent chapbook, with Casey Renee Kiser, Altered States of The Unflinching Souls, is now out in the world. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Reptile by Bruce Morton

Why do I like the sun so?
I don’t really know.
I do not worship it.
There is no Ra or rah-rah
In its rays. I do not raise
Nor bow my head, yet
Will shield my eyes, so
As not to be blinded
By its intensity, energy so
Well-travelled, so fast
That it has seen darkness
Disappear. There are days
It seems like it could be
God’s spotlight, but
Then it creates shadow,
Where I also find comfort.
Perhaps a function of the id,
Some reptilian impulse
To want to lie, if truth be told,
On a warm rock, to absorb
The heat, to melt the ache.

--

Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. He is the author of two poetry collections: Planet Mort (2024) and Simple Arithmetic & Other Artifices (2014). His poems have appeared in numerous online and print venues. He was formerly dean at the Montana State University library.

Pushcart Nominations

Disturb The Universe Magazine is proud to announce our nominees for The Pushcart Prize!

Gabriel Bates - Know Your Enemy
Jerome Berglund - Clovers
John Winfield Hoppin - Hot Day

Daniel Guido - You Knew You'd Come to This
Bruce Morton - The Morality and Economics of Sex
John Grey - Tattoos

Congratulations to each of these fantastic writers!

Carousel Girls by Kelly Moyer

Somewhere out there
is a galaxy
filled with gas lamps,
beating hearts
and freshly-plucked
pomegranates,
forever on the cusp
of releasing
the syrup
within their seeds.

In the night,
one might score
the ripest
like a poem
into quarters,
if only to luxuriate
in the rip of its pith
or, say, pierce
its potential
with the incisors,
ground down
from years of gnashing,
so as to allow the jaw
to provide the force.

Were morning to come,
the cobbles
would remain stained
with the intensity
of our aspirations,
yours and mine,
and we couldn’t help
but to beg the Buddha
to spin the wheel
one more time, like
the carousel girls
who have more
tickets than pockets
and live, in spite
of punishment,
to simply enjoy
the thrill of the ride.

Kelly Moyer is an accomplished poet, photographer and fiber artist, who pursues her muse through the cobbled streets of New Orleans’s French Quarter as well as the mountains of North Carolina. Hushpuppy, her collection of short-form poetry, was released last year by Nun Prophet Press. Notecards containing a few of her most popular images are available at www.etsy.com/shop/theunfazedmoon.