Absent Lovers, Again

S. K. Nicholas


From somewhere in the distance comes the sound of music, and maybe it’s just me, but it sounds like Neal and Jack and Me by King Crimson. Stopping in the middle of a country road as the animals float on by, I turn my head to one side trying to decide if the music’s real or just my imagination. Noticing me getting sidetracked, my fox doubles back and stands there waiting at the edge of the road, not wanting to burst the bubble I’ve found myself in. Gazing at the sky but seeing not stars but memory, I catch the lead singer singing about absent lovers, and just like that the sky parts and I see a vision of X and I dancing to the very same song in some spit and sawdust bar not long after we’d first met. We’d arrived drunk after a meal in some Chinese restaurant…

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Everyone knows I’m full of shit,

Except for who knows I’m true

Everyone thinks I’m gonna quit

Except for those that know how I do
it’s a little bit inside of it, y’all don’t know what I’m trying to quit, your mind just won’t abide this shit, I’m a lot and not just a little bit
Unsure, uncured, not pure, so much wrong in my long sentence of unrepentant dependency, I try to look and I just can not begin to see, this virus inside of my brain is like John Wick come to cause pain, to exact revenge, to attack and not defend what has no worth since birth, my life was meant to be over but I have an eternal four-leaf-clover guiding my heart, I’m not creating, I’m riding this art, I don’t end because I can’t step from the start, it’s too easy I don’t care if…

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Prayer for the Dead

Brave & Reckless

my heart
dresses in
black lace
when I slide beads slowly
through my practiced hands
their surfaces warm
worn smooth
against calloused
it is the tender tissue
of my throat
that stings
as I murmur
their names
one by one
in order of loss
head bowed
in the candlelight
or I must return
to the beginning
start again
the ritual must be
performed perfectly
at the alter
of my dead

© 2018 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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when i die-


you will find ink blurb, parched words,
acoustic in air,
a hot burning potpourri
and my ink romancing with words.
this is what i will leave when i die-
a torn cloth, stinking souvenirs,
words like thick and sick stick to my tongue,
a concave road of anxiety on my wrists.

for i had no people in my pockets,
i had no eye contact,my conversations with stars
made me fall in love with the moon,
and its dark now, nocturnal love.
nocturnal soul.

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Only Girl in the World

FVR Publishing

Lately sleep is sleep but ain’t, dreams aren’t dreams but queens, unqualified to mollify my Maker. I shelve repentance ’til later, as if I don’t procrastinate my fate on the daily. When the duality in individuality isn’t its dominant trait, I may return to the root cause, parts of myself I’ve forgotten how to appreciate. I tailored love to survival but it’s lost its allure. Besides,

the only girl in the world took that with her.

So I looked for reincarnation, a romance more pure. Rest assured, I haven’t

found it yet, but rebirth is

a process.

I had to learn to be honest about dying first.

I had to split down the middle, learn how to volley between mania and melancholy, each usurping balance with sprawling narratives

and not face triple threat.

Lately sanity is a children’s tale, ones our parents failed to contest as fiction, and this midnight…

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Advanced Review of Blossom and Bone, Nicole Lyons

My Screaming Twenties

When the very first poem causes you to sit back in your seat and admire the sky through the window, smiling because you have been blissfully reminded how much raw beauty and strength rests in the voices of others, you know you’re about to read one hell of a book. The beginning of Blossom and Bone is exactly as it should be. Lyons’ voice – unafraid and honest – is introduced perfectly and then she unfolds.

Lyons unfolds like wings from a chrysalis, like freshly washed bed sheets, like dirty, crumpled bed sheets, like dog-eared pages, like kept loved letters, like a tongue in a lover’s mouth, like your wildest dreams. No stone is left unturned as Lyons’ poetry delves deeper into the poet and the reader. I found myself reminiscing throughout the entire book; reminiscing about heartbreak, heartache, love, friendship, freedom, loss, sanity, insanity, the nights I’ve spent alone…

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