I am Filled with the Fury

of stars and I have known you

 

but who listens

to you? Even

still there is

no vitality

 

in your breath.

Be still I advise you

to grow wide to

leave your neighbors

to kill anyone

with your same

 

first name. Prepare.

We have buried three

stronger than

you. We have made wine

 

from their voice

box and now we are so

terribly drunk.

 

–Christine Kanownik

The Silence of Watery Graves

We dove into the still waters,

delved too deep–

 

The waters were muddied

by the thickness of blood,

and we were stopped.

 

In our tracks, the dust settled

and all clues pointed towards

death. But signs are always arbitrary,

 

they lead to X, which only marks

the spot where an embarrassment

of riches was buried.

 

–Sharmi Cohen

 

Human Achievements: CYBORG

When they program our phones to our brains,

I want to be sure they give my eye camera

the right prescription. Full on focus like my eyes

can’t do. I fell in love because I saw you clearly.

Saw the yellow house where this inevitably ends,

with my blood on your hands. You’re a monster in

reverse. A peach tree about to bloom. Take me under

and tangled in roots. I revolt at being buried, but do

love arms so.

–Lauren Hunter

Mightiness does not/perpetually occur/in the shape of swords.

–Yours Truly

Cryptid, In Jest.

Culprit is a corrective theory designed to detain memory.

Memory is not an agent that deals in smoke.

Smoke is a benign appetizer for the funhouses of hell.

Hell is an opulent locomotive in its sulfuric and fanged plumage.

Plumage is a culture unknown to sand.

Sand is a sinister compound for this landscape of loss.

Loss is something we cultivate in our forest of invisible elms.

Elms who sing in a void whose kin has no culprit.

–Adam O. Davis

Augustus (from Empire)

You were on the way to meet me

when I died a meter from your arm.

You saw the photo while you rode here.

Looking at my naked body.

I made a flipbook with a lemon

dividing you and me by time.

I took a bath to bring my chill down

& surrounded my body with thick blankets.

I made a flipbook rocking back and

forth staring at a Georgian calendar.

The closer you were to me, the more I’d die.

It took a month for you to get here.

It took a month for me to die.

–Amy Lawless

Cheek to Jowl (Macbeth)

Duncan has died and they

are huddled on each other

crying openly as Macbeth

talks about the tragedies

inside his walls

 

They are rending their clothes

 

And later

when Lady Macbeth

sleeplessly

walks her hands stained and

screaming throws herself

against the floors

 

Those very same people

will huddle each

with an empty crate

they will pack her voice

and carry it off the stage

 

Leaving her alone in nightclothes

–Michael Wilson