Bryce Jones is a former child comedian. Email him at brycejones0508@gmail.com if you would like to be pen pals.
Shane Jesse Christmass is the author of the novels, Yeezus In Furs (Dostoyevsky
Wannabe, 2018), Napalm Recipe: Volume One (Dostoyevsky
Wannabe, 2017), Police Force As A Corrupt
Breeze (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2016) and Acid Shottas (The Ledatape
Organisation, 2014). He was a member of the band Mattress Grave, and is
currently a member in Snake Milker. An archive of his
writing/artwork/music can be found at shanejessechristmass.tumblr.com.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/sjxsjc
*Editor’s Note: biographical data withheld at author’s request.
Find [x] at http://evenunto.net & https://twitter.com/xxvi_xxxviii
Mike Corrao is the author of Man, Oh Man (Orson’s Publishing) and Gut Text (11:11 Press). His work has been featured in publications such as 3:AM, Always Crashing, The Collagist, and The Portland Review. He lives in Minneapolis where he earned his B.A. in film and English literature at the University of Minnesota. Learn more at www.mikecorrao.com &
https://twitter.com/ShmikeShmorrao
[closing spells]
My mother said that I should bathe in oatmeal
So I do
thick baths gray with powder, sticking in clumps of snow
and I dip in so that I no longer itch
or bleed
A Broken Mirror
DNA smeared
over a broken
mirror
there was no
blood
CONSUMED
Rhode Island, 1892
For Mercy Lena Brown
I.
After you die, Lena, you will freeze
until the neighbors unearth you
open your chest, your breasts
split to either side. In your heart:
blood–frozen. Your lungs, shaped like wings,
will yield once, collapse, and won’t rise.
Ruminate
When nights steal in I paint
a house filling with water.
I make the exit transparent,
front door gray and ghostly beneath
seawater creeping past the baseboards,
sloshing over the table,
I See My House, My Field
after Marianne Boruch
My son lives there now, in his winter
like a husky dog burrows in snow.
Most of the rooms (yes, I can see them from Florida)
are muted by cold, and the furniture
is still the maple my mother bought the year
she had her affair with my father.
DURAS (THE MUTE)
“Writing also means not speaking. Keeping silent.” M.D.,Writing.
MD is mute. She throws her voice into the text and there, her voice, resides. There, in the book, we hear her screams, we hear her weeping. But alone, in her giant white mansion, she speaks to no one. She paces, endlessly, the only sound, the sound of flies and death emanating from within the cracked walls.
Stasis
I know how to be a beetle stranded on its back,
a moth pinned flat inside a frame, a wildflower
pressed between the pages of a book, a petroglyph,
a fragment of my former self, a rock, a photograph.
Untitled [Elegy For the Memory of a Relationship]
It isn’t the space
the closeness of knowing
somebody so well
we hear their heartbeat
inside ours,
or the aperture of life
squinting one morning at a time,
but I freeze right there,
Lazarus & the Real Boy
1. HE WHO IS NOW CALLED LAZARUS
was born a plain boy we
christened STUART
and thus it went
first his brain yellowed then grew
claws and we
were sore afraid
The Artisan’s Defense
He’d blame the desert if they ever found him. Golden sunsets were wasted on him, made his eyes dry, clouded his mind. He saw no signs in the horizon, no maps to promised lands. The desert was for prophets, men without a trade, who could do nothing but lift their clumsy hands to the sky and then coil upon the ground, savoring their shortcomings before G-d. Continue reading “The Artisan’s Defense – Hege Jakobsen Lepri”
Water Witching
I.
Lend me your ears; I am telling you stories. My cave is empty. I have nothing else to give. There is a mountain in Norway called the Storebalak, where, in March of ’86, an avalanche ate 16 soldiers. This is known as the Vassdalen Incident. Consider the number 16. Consider the numbered dead. This was of 31 of them. Consider the avalanche merciful. Consider I am telling you facts now. Let it be known this is a history. Who Continue reading “Water Witching – Jamie Hood”
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 