Garrett’s Blog has launched!
Posted by Chloe Wayne | Filed under Announcements
Excelano poet Garrett Carey has launched his new blog The Dope Sickness showcasing sick art, design, cinema, products, and sites on the internet. Show your support at:
STILL
Posted by Alysia Harris | Filed under Poetry, Print
Tell me feet first.
Airport peeled and travel streaked
sand in my teeth, tasting like where you’ve been
absent. Nuzzling your calf with my toes when we cuddle
and guess:
Were you 30 men meatpacked in an open air van?
Were you a hair pin in a hijab,
you chain with threads; wink in the wind?
Were you a dead stray, belly
bloated, face up praying the elements take it
slow? Were you the sole of Old City?
Were you where you belong but as out of place as a
pink conch in a desert. Not all sands
the same.
Bedouin ears pressed to your
voicebox demanding miracles,
far from sure. But I keep it up.
I know there are no maps
where you came from
distance still
judged in hand/ hectares, height still measured in God
Were you a slave’s intestines twisting into oxbows when he thinks
“home”? Were you ever in a mosque built like a cathedral?
Were you my tears carried on
the backs of ants made of mascara,
the apple core trail they leave behind,
or a reel of film leading to someone old’s grave?
You were never a pair of broken necked tourists
but once, once you were a dirty look coming clean in my eyes.
Yeah, a few times you were Quasimodo, and I Esmeralda, arab
as she was, surprised and unable to cover
my face quick enough.
We were face to face and even then,
were you ever close enough to be mine?
Were you ever innocent?
Were you ever Lord of the flies?
Tell me were you ever magpies
singing or a kilt mockingbird?
Where you were, were you sick of island hopping inside
yourself, chatting with beach balls, drawing
escape plans from paradise?
Were you a
table dancer balancing between
the stars and a corona
or just a boy
pockets full of rocks?
Were you at peace or just at the edge?
Were you ever anything more than a full house
of chance and a bluff quivering on the tongue,
Were you ever shaken like that?
Are you still now?
3:13
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under Poetry, Print
like blind men smile
and mothers of crippled children hum
we laugh
soliloquies into the darkness
dark comedic self revelations
we were never sure if our vocal cords could handle
ink and paper
something like stone and chisel
we wouldn’t write our names on anything
that wasn’t permanent
so we left out the vowels
left out anything that reminded us of the past
rocked 80s bandannas and ask her 2 “Be my girl”
so we looked like the New Kids on the block
isn’t that what journals are for
locked stories of pain
and disappointment
I was a poor English student
but when I found out
boredom and heart break
were synonyms
I must have cried for at least 30 sec
before my ADD kicked in
there is something
about watching
flame and ink
make love
that liberates your soul
leaves a mushroom cloud incense
of everything we hate in the mirror
lingering
and kissing
our foreheads
baptismal writes of Passages
we scribbled
on rainy days
The kind of umbrella
wishful thinking
that children breathe
and adults only ever exhale
is there anything about this
that we still love
anything not yet written
unbirthed
raw
and erotic
that we haven’t yet tried
or are we just spitting in the wind
hoping our words won’t
one day hit us in the face
bare knuckle reminders
of everything we wish
we could forgive
and wash our hands of
a kind of Pontius Pilate complex
we always envied
or coveted
but blood seems to wash off easier
than heartbreak does
21
Posted by Alysia Harris | Filed under Poetry, Print
- I am as fragile as a poached egg.
- I know how to break. I do not know how to stop.
- My vagina is a glass jar. If I let you smash, all the lightening bugs would escape.
- I am the rainbow bright dragon sleeping in the lions den.
- I do not hoard gold. I do not eat men. I have met Daniel. My dreams are not my own.
- I am vain. My actions are not.
- I am horrible at remembering names. It’s my worst quality. Makes me feel like a bitch.
- I hope these cracked lips is not herpes but just the heat of our exchange.
- He and I broke up because we saw God differently. We ended because he did not see me for who I really am.
- I’ll text you.
- The sun and me, we are tight.
- I can’t drive but I know the loyalty of a backseat and I would follow you anywhere
- I learned how to smell like sex.
- I guard my hands not my heart.
- But this pen makes me a slut.
- I did not skip 15 but that year was a mess.
- I forgive like two front teeth biting into an apple
- I think I was most beautiful when I was at his mercy
- I am uglier now.
- Despite its predictability, I am infatuated with the epic.
- I cry when I kill spiders… I am still learning to love.
