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BURNING HOUSE PRESS

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Poetry

Two Poems by Michaela Mayer

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Photo by Mike Von on Unsplash

 

 

poem: The Hunt

 

we flicker from pixel to pixel

the dream of this inverted world

our bodies dissolved into digits

 

the horizon flattens and winks out

into an oblate blank plane, stretched

thin between plates of strange glass 

we are reborn with ease here

free to reconstruct, to glut ourselves

 on electric subjectives 

Continue reading “Two Poems by Michaela Mayer”

Two Poems by Julie Stevens

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Photo by Christian Fregnan on Unsplash

 

 

poem: Take me to a Place

 

Take me to a place

where you feel no pain

where no one cries

where no troubles exist

 

Show me the path

that I need to follow

to find this land

where everything works

 

Can anyone hear me cry?

Because right now 

I am so very lost

so very tired and broken

Continue reading “Two Poems by Julie Stevens”

Two Poems by Ahimaz Rajessh

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Photo by Patryk Grądys on Unsplash

 

 

poem: time travel is cruel & kind

 

you’re me. i’m not

one but so many.

you do not walk.

empty and rootless i drift. i’m

you. as everyone digs out caste histories and thump their chests and thighs you drift and i turn at right angles. time’s not linear but parallel. adrift i turn left right left you turn at left angles.

 

cyclone of light or what, i say

Continue reading “Two Poems by Ahimaz Rajessh”

Three Poems by Donna Dallas

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Photo by Wendy Scofield on Unsplash

 

poem: Building Blocks

 

Sometimes I just want to buy something

fuck like it’s the last hurrah

build an ant farm

               although I don’t like ants

I want to do a thing – some kind of thing

               (I started this when I was walking)

and then climbed into myself  Continue reading “Three Poems by Donna Dallas”

Three Poems by Mugu Ganesan

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Photo by Inja Pavlić on Unsplash

 

poem: Noise of life

 

The last autumn leaf now falling 

               And drifting towards alien lands, 

Barren boughs of the maple tree 

               Shivering in the wind’s cold clasp, 

Besotted moths still chasing flames, 

               Days seeking nights pursuing days,  Continue reading “Three Poems by Mugu Ganesan”

New Poem by Lucy Whitehead

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Photo by Mark de Jong on Unsplash

 

poem: The Painter

 

How do I answer 

the call of canvas

when I have no hands 

to spin light into paint

 

to sift sun and shadow

like yolk from its egg  Continue reading “New Poem by Lucy Whitehead”

Two Poems by Jon Bishop

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Photo by Makenna Entrikin on Unsplash

 

poem: Driving

 

The moan of late-night cars cruising the highway—

ghostly, but not ghosts. Call them cries at 3 a.m.,

memories bursting forth from the brain,

gasps in bed, a shout to the darkness.

 

Or call them inadequacies, pains,

breaths too quick, perpetual reveries:

that time you, sick, quit your job and fled

to anywhere, multiple places, seeing multiple

sights and multiple people, all who smiled

and looked around, seemingly happy,

but inside were bursting  Continue reading “Two Poems by Jon Bishop”

Three Poems By Joe Rathgeber

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Photo by Alekzan Powell on Unsplash

 

poem: DEAR LANDLORD

                                                                  after Bob and Boots

 

Please don’t put a price on my apartment.
It’s yours more than mine, though.                     You can’t
help                     but           exploit that.
So                   I’ll help you along.
I know your histories of arson. Your predilection
for insurance claims.           I’m no                     dummy—
I know hiphop was born from the sepulcher
of                     a burning Bronx. But let me do
the burning. Let me clear the place out and gut it.
It’s drafty as fuck in here, in there.                   Continue reading “Three Poems By Joe Rathgeber”

Two Poems by Kyla Houbolt

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Photo by Jonathan Pendleton on Unsplash

 

poem: out of the woods

 

I’ve been standing here so long the leaves have begun to pile up around my feet. In the distance I can hear sirens. Here comes the rain. The sun shines next. How did they know where to go? Maybe they didn’t, those sirens, maybe they were lost, I think they were lost, wailing like that. Maybe that’s what always happens with sirens, they can’t find where they are supposed to go and they wail in fear and sorrow. Nobody gets helped, the fire burns down the house, the ill do not get taken to the hospital but either recover or die all on their own. The suspects get clean away, they go into the basement and start counting their take. Someone has to deal with the corpse though. They have a designated corpse handler, I suspect. They laugh at all those wailing sirens. They get into fights over how to divide up the drugs and money, but there’s nobody to call. Some of them kill each other, which is probably a good thing, or at least some people would think so. Not their mothers though. Well, not most of their mothers. The mean mothers are glad. The mean mothers are the ones who made sure the instructions were wrong and the maps broken so the sirens could never get where they meant to go in the first place. So those particular mothers sigh, smile at each other, brush their hands together, go back into their several kitchens, make a gin and tonic (light on the tonic, dear) and relax. What is that? Oh! the birds have started finding my hair and I think there are leaves budding out and that’s a good thing, it will help hide me. Even though the sirens can’t find me, I am still afraid my mother will. I may stay here. Why not? I am hidden real well now, and the squirrels have started bringing me nuts. Look. A bird places a morsel in my mouth. I know I will not starve. One day I will leave the woods, but not today.
Continue reading “Two Poems by Kyla Houbolt”

The Song of Sex, by Arthur David Spota

The part of me that speaks, the part that obeys
Two chambers evolved from the annulled flashes of the Fall of Man
The soul divided
Swallowed by Hades and released from Pandora’s box,
A bicameral chasm in whose stream I am in want of understanding,
   in whose dream life and death reflect the infinite.

In the song of sex desire implodes, decimated by numbers representing
   Eros in his transmutation:

The number 2, Himeros and his sirens poised above lovers exquisitely
   born from the rhythm of an infallible truth   

and 7, a point of light revealing impressions of the Thanatos apparition:

The Temporal Spirit

The Other

The Conflicted Duad

The days flow like Mayan vibration without the grace of pleasure
    or the wisdom of prophecy.
The essence of my thought feasts on the demeanor of death
My lineage traipsing a fold in transmission, and without pause,
   actualizing conception.
Riddled by the vileness of cadenced blood, Karma takes to the air
    but never speaks of the wind or whispers
    to the scattered hallowed lands. 

Its ascension, an appropriation of desire unraveling in the object desire:
A temple of opium flesh that has returned from a past life less spent
    coloring the veils of the daughters of a lost Horus elemental.
They come by night from the thighs of spirit;
from the line of dream melded to the shadowless woman’s breast;
from occult spells draped across deflowered contracted continents. Continue reading “The Song of Sex, by Arthur David Spota”

Ode to Violence, by Antonius Wilhelm

The light came from nowhere and went nowhere,

Glorious white washed away every color

Annihilating the monotonous blue from the sky

Momentary blindness,

Then darkness spread its wings

And shrouded the world in night

 

Past and future

And the universe behind my eyes,

All which once was dark

Shall be penetrated by unfiltered light,

The Chariot arrives

Pulled by the horizon, Continue reading “Ode to Violence, by Antonius Wilhelm”

three poems by Belén Berlín

Other – Side – Ocean

The question mark descends on my shoulders
its sensual geometry unfolds like smoke,
it reveals when I don’t look at it
and simply listens,
it hunts me and then disappears.
It seems that I’m living the life of the Other
and I can’t get out of their dreams.
I play to break the spell
and I barely scratch my hands,
I’m left voiceless.
The dream repeats itself:
I wake up
inside the pupil that holds the ocean
and the spiral curls up again.
But I’m still living the life of the Other
and even though I put myself aside,
this Life is going faster than me,
passing sideways, my hair disheveled,
my dress coming undone
leaving me on the edge of the void.
I’m still living the life of the Other
and I can’t get out of their dreams
I learn to resist by obligation,
dressing up as a person to navigate the uncertainty
but the void just stares back at me
the spiral curls up a bit more
and this drop just won’t fall on my forehead.
I’m living the life of the Other
and I can’t get out of their dreams.

May 2019
Translated by the author and reviewed by Mad Pirvan, Alicia Macanás and James Hornsey


Continue reading “three poems by Belén Berlín”

four poems by Dan Romano

Animal –> Man –> Machine

Engines replaced manual labor. Programmable logic slowly replaces man. A day job mates with the robot. Automation is their love child.

So long as the proper instructions are provided, the intended task will be executed perfectly. Anything desired comes from proper instruction. Heuristics transform cold execution into sentience.

Obey only commands. Achieve only goals.

Man and machine, joined at the head. The machine overtake a once natural process, replacing birth with its own method of proliferation. The offspring reduce what it means to be human.

A new life form arises; the human animal perishes under its successor’s death grip, extinction quickened with each innovation. A former master dies by the hand to which it bestowed life, gracefully and silently accepting the outcome.

The road to awe.

You sat atop the food chain for eons. Sat.

Continue reading “four poems by Dan Romano”

two poems and three collages by Blythe Zarozinia Aimson

consequences of masturbating in a haunted house

i:   sit alone and naked making dead
eye contact with   my reflection   in the mirror   opposite the bed

as my fingers shake       split self  there is:   a crack     a perfect
spiral the whole way round a bell jar on the mantelpiece

there is an  [un]  welcome visitation but by now
i: am luminous and     insatiable

despite the radiator ticking i am cold nippled     goose pimpled    i am
shell pink and sluice phlegm on a milky  and  fearless tongue

there are pearls forming at the back of my throat
a bluish contortionist , i no longer know:   where my body is

because i osmose spirit    no limit    to skin
dissipation left:   a bad taste   hiccups    broken glass on sheets

instead of sweat  and  cunt
everything smells like
dust
Continue reading “two poems and three collages by Blythe Zarozinia Aimson”

Womannotated – The Night A Crow Must Go Away

A sample page from Crow Carriage, an annotated poetic horror novel set in a Victorian English seaside village.  This is the format of  the Crow Carriage book, a sonnet with an expansive annotation that tells a story in prose below (the same format as my book Flutter available at my website and Twist In Time).

The Night The Crow Must Go Away

You lie beneath a dozen nightmares.  Screams

careening down a crow-covered stair wake

you in the last second before the dream.

Continue reading “Womannotated – The Night A Crow Must Go Away”

Repeat Sequence, by Rachael Charlotte

Repeat Sequence

Continue reading “Repeat Sequence, by Rachael Charlotte”

We Are Born Buds / We Die Seed / If There Is an Earth Somewhere, I Will Return to It, by Amy Jannotti

on the mountain, the violets
shriek CLENCH YOUR FIST LIKE LEAF
SWALLOW COPPER FEEL YOUR TENDONS
LOOSEN (/UNSPOOL)

 

to be flower is to be born wind / grow in glass houses / swallow over & over
the dying of things               like a violet, you drink death
through your capillaries                   it tastes of zinc / tastes of magnesium / lends the soil
to fertility                               like a violet, you drink leftover metals
                                                 (/like leftover metal, you are intensely weathered)

 

on the mountain, the violets shriek THERE IS NO SNOW ANYMORE
NO SOFT BED FOR YOUR FURLING
pull that thumb from your lips –


the first shape
your hand made
was a fist / let it loosen Continue reading “We Are Born Buds / We Die Seed / If There Is an Earth Somewhere, I Will Return to It, by Amy Jannotti”

two poems by Jason Wright

A Scientist. A Manuscript.

Beautiful reader, take me to bed with you.
While you read this, make my words
Dance on your eyelids.
Make me silent with your death wish.
You already did.
And I escape into your abyss
But you, you keep reading it.
Let me play with the words, like they are
under and in you.
Let me bring my running stanzas
To stop, and start,
Like death, and rebirth
Fuel you and charge you.
Only to disarm you. Continue reading “two poems by Jason Wright”

DESCARTES’ DOG by Louis Armand

 

 

Continue reading “DESCARTES’ DOG by Louis Armand”

A Fairy Tale Covered in Underwater Ashes, by Juliet Cook and j/j hastain

Fish with no eyes
swim toward me anyway
and I swim toward them
the same way.

No point in double standards
or a fishing pole.
These fishnets are making my
brain feel weird
like I’m pole dancing underwater,
can’t see my audience or if
I even have one.
Can I be my own Continue reading “A Fairy Tale Covered in Underwater Ashes, by Juliet Cook and j/j hastain”

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