My Ariadne can see the future.
(My Ariadne. This is my version of the story.)
She spins her red thread, and it twists into shapes before her eyes, hearts and nooses. It tells her that Theseus turns out to be an asshole.
Seven young men and seven maidens arrive on the island, and Theseus outshines them all. His eyes are the sky blue of someone who believes he cannot fail, who believes he has no darkness within him. Those eyes make Ariadne dream of flight.
Theseus wonders how such a creature as the minotaur, half-beast, half-man, could be allowed to exist. Ariadne doesn’t tell him the last of the halves: the monster is her half-brother. In the evening she dreams of blue eyes, but her hands twist and turn the red thread. At midnight she dreams of mazes like arteries and veins, running red and blue.
Ariadne gives Theseus a coiled ball of thread the size of a heart. She tells him the thread will guide him out of the labyrinth.
Drawing/illustrations made in Procreate, spatial VR remix poem made in Tilt Brush, and overall design/collage by ReVerse Butcher.
Original linear poem, and flower photography by Kylie Supski.
Orbit if you follow, if you quit
the rail of Cassiopeia.
Point the toe if you flow
backward from the altar.
Be appointed dirt to an Easter scene,
breathe as low
as an overbearing ceiling.
The ankles for the trees,
the kestrel square and trim,
as a kestrel is begotten
and bent inward from the rim.
A microscope slide of masonry
plied with ocular fluid, Continue reading “Phobos Lab by Edwin Evans-Thirlwell”
HELL IS REAL
warns the interstate billboard
between pastures and pig slaughters
this landscape of disturbance
smells like home to my soul
the sun’s pollen heats
a body of cows
invisible behind dirt devils
mooing in another language
hell is a gas station
of glaring bony-leered eyes
the giant sky turns to me
with cornflower irises
through titanic turbine lashes
across unblinking horizon Continue reading “3 Poems by Kylie Ayn Yockey”
I plan ahead
Preparing for the best outcome
I stay alert for the minotaurs
that live in my maze
Each day I puzzle and calculate
But in the woods
Why do my decisions come so easily?
I step off the trail
feeling my way around
Barbed wire fences
Picking up deer trails
I follow them without knowing where they’ll take me Continue reading “Strategies by Lisa Fazio”
When I first decided to move from Austin, TX to Los Angeles, I was leaving behind my friends, family, two jobs, and cat all in Texas to go finish school in a big, new city. I was freshly single after a relationship of two years, and I felt isolated, alone, but empowered to say the least.
The week before I moved from Austin, I said several goodbyes. To the job I worked for 3 years, to my students who I worked with in an after-school program. I moved everything out of my apartment and picked myself up after long sad nights.
During this transition period, talking about all the swift changes and new rules of the adult world proved difficult. I was only beginning to learn how to navigate my own mental health, and I went through my days carrying the weight of the breakup pain plus the grief of moving while others appeared to function and lead happy, perfect lives. I watched my 4 year old cousin turn 5, and we painted his hair pink. I went to Chicago by myself to visit an old friend. I packed up my belongings and dealt with the process of moving like a grown woman. Continue reading “Big Moves/Changes/ Feelings by Lauren Weik”
She sleepwalks in your washi house in crin-
oline, emaciated mouse weeks you
forget to feed, a nibbler, toenails, skin,
until feet bleed free, soil sheets, bamboo
floor, trafficked hardly anymore except
somnabulistic scarlet toes who
map labyrinths, shake off bedclothes, accept
razored teeth in pale furrows. Ankle chewed
until, unconscious, she seeks the ground. Bandage,
next time you come around — rose macaroons
gunpowder tea — into a paper cage
fantasy, unbolted door, girl you freed,
six months ago, believes enough to bleed.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna, and more. She is the author of fourteen books of poetry including Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (The Hedgehog Poetry Press), the forthcoming Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), The Meadow (APEP Publications) and Shut Your Eyes, Succubi (Maverick Duck). Follow her on Twitter @lolaandjolie and her website kristingarth.com
swallowed hope: an erasure diptych
For all the good it did
It was me. Should I go on?
The dark doesn’t affect
your nose. Never wake up
A fraction of an inch— Continue reading “Remixes by Shloka Shankar”