Unfinished Exit by Claudia Wysocky

I keep thinking
about the time in high school
when you drew
me
a map of the city,
I still have it somewhere.
It was so easy
to get lost
in a place where all the trees
look the same.
And now
every time I see
a missing person's poster
stapled to a pole,
all I can think is
that could have been me.
Missing,
disappeared.

But there are no
posters for people
who just never came back
from vacation, from college,
from life.
You haven't killed yourself
because you'd have to commit to a
single exit.
What you wouldn't give to be your cousin Catherine,
who you watched
twice in one weekend get strangled nude
in a bathtub onstage
by the actor who once
filled your mouth with quarters at
your mother's funeral.
The curtains closed and opened again.
We applauded until
our hands were sore.

But you couldn't shake the image of
her lifeless body,
the way she hung there like a
marionette with cut strings.
And now every time you try to write a poem,
it feels like a
eulogy.
So even though you haven't
found the perfect ending yet,
you keep writing.
For Catherine, for yourself, for all the lost
souls
who never got their own
missing person's poster.
Because as long as there are words on a page,
there is still hope for an unfinished exit
to find its proper
ending.

--

Claudia Wysocky, a Polish writer and poet based in New York, is known for her diverse literary creations, including fiction and poetry. Her poems reflect her ability to capture the beauty of life through rich descriptions. Besides poetry, she authored All Up in Smoke (Anxiety Press). Her writing is powered by her belief in art's potential to inspire positive change. Claudia also shares her personal journey and love for writing on her own blog, and she expresses her literary talent as an immigrant raised in post-communism Poland.

A certain point. by DS Maolalai

at a certain point:
a fulcrum –

a life is lived
and life then
continues

to be lived.

--

DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as "a cosmopolitan poet" and another as "prolific, bordering on incontinent". His work has been nominated thirteen times for BOTN, ten for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and released in three collections; "Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden" (Encircle Press, 2016), "Sad Havoc Among the Birds" (Turas Press, 2019) and “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022)

As Time Helps Me Grieve by Richard LeDue

The swimming lessons I never took
taught me a healthy fear of water,
which only quenched my distrust
of the land further, forcing me
to dive into the cheapest whisky.

Saturday nights trapped in a bottle
like a ship that couldn't float,
nor sink, and as easy as glass is
to break, I was always scared
of seeing my own blood.

Now, red is my favourite colour
and winter where I'm most comfortable:
footprints going in circles,
yet moving forward as time
helps me grieve who I used to be.

--

Richard LeDue (he/him) lives in Norway House, Manitoba, Canada. He has been published both online and in print. He is the author of eleven books of poetry. His latest full-length book, “Sometimes, It Isn't Much,” was released from Alien Buddha Press in February 2024, and his latest chapbook, “Mourning for the Petals,” was self-published online for Kindle in November 2024.

devil just passing through by Casey Renee Kiser

My nightmare-man comes SO LOUD;
he comes often, bores me and collects
my wrist cuts-
oh he cuts, he cuts, HE CUTS
Promises me I’m in the black book, he checks,
ha! Yes! Top ten mind-fuckable sluts! Cold cuts;
licks his knife and hands me his double tongue
I say, ‘Oh baby, JUST BREATHE’
as I rip out his dreamy lung. Can’t gaslight
a FiRestARTeR, dragon up my sleeve
Now he can’t wake up ‘cause my flames
will never leave
until he’s ready to upgrade

to my dReAm.

--

Casey Renee Kiser is a punk poet who knows how to deliver the horrors of the mundane machine, churning out the emotions that lurk beneath the surface within complicated relationships, most of all, self.

Precipitation by Anthony Ward

It was a rain swept afternoon,
Where a sudden downpour creates a white noise,
As if the programme you were engrossed in
Has come to an abrupt end
A thick and streaky Kurosawa rain,
Drumming against the windows,
The black and white contrasting with the grey.
Consigning myself to doing nothing,
Whiling away to wait out,
Consoled by the external aggravation
Pelting the pavements with applause,
While embezzled in the moment
Something I’ve not felt in a while,
The present not normally permitted.

--

Anthony loves the way words sound through silence. He is inspired by the nature of the world and the expression of art as humanity decrees to discover itself. He writes to express the overwhelming beauty of the natural world with the inspiring admiration of artistic creativity. He has recently been published in Shot Glass Journal, Jerry Jazz Musician, Dear Booze, and Mad Swirl.

an upcoming dystopian winter by J.J. Campbell

here comes the rain

the hollow ache
of an upcoming
dystopian winter

hope was slain
on the side of the
yellow brick road

any fool could
see it coming

bleeding hearts are
never meant to last
long

eventually, we harden

become these brash
bastards unraveling
whatever the fuck

progress was ever
deemed to be

eventually, that will
become a society
that eats itself

in the distance
caligula is laughing

amateurs

just a bunch of
fucking amateurs

--

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is a 3 time Best Of The Net nominee and was recently nominated for The Pushcart Prize. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Synchronized Chaos, The Dope Fiend Daily, Yellow Mama and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

A Big Success by Wayne F. Burke

The fortune teller’s tent
was next to the tent
that had a pickled
3-legged baby in a jar.
The fortune teller was middle-aged
and swarthy
and wore an extravagance of color
like a Gypsy.
She held my paw.
I was in seventh grade and
had yet to grow hands.
“You will be a big success,”
she said
after a too quick
I thought
look at my palm.
“But late in life.”

--

Wayne F. Burke's poetry and prose has been widely published in print and online (including in DISTURB THE UNIVERSE). His eight published collections of poetry include the highly praised A LARK UP THE NOSE OF TIME, 2017. He lives in Vermont (USA).