Partial Solution

Max Meunier

a message to men
and their member’s compensing
pray ne’er be remiss
in thy diligence due

concerning the wrath
of its wanton dispensing
with nary acquist
of one semblance of truth

it seems that the war
in which all men partake of
is focused quite solely
on slaking oneself

to sate the feared fate
of inadequate function
in matters where coital
efficacy dwells

perhaps it’s an aspect
derived from devices
accustomed to thrusting
phantom paramours

decidedly lacking
the human connection
which would elicit
empathetic succor

in fact, so profuse
are the factors comprising
this vilest of vices
not wont to evolve

’tis such that it would take
a Proustian effort
to pen the impending
effusive nuance

the warranted emphasis
belies expression
one might say ineffable
such as it were

how much more apparent
can one thus profess this
than that which so painfully
i now confer

the scope of this…

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The Path My Feet Must Follow

Brave & Reckless


path before me does not

stretch out

into horizon

no straight lines

for me to walk

it curves

a seashell

into unknown terrain

cautiously I travel

this spiral path

circles twisting ever tighter

translucent walls


increasingly reach out

to brush

my hair

my arms

bare feet

negotiate smooth surface

slippery with memory

I descend


ever deeper

into the darkness

of my own heart

knowing not what dwells

in its deepest recesses

Image from Pinterest

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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The Drums They Beat

Mick's Neon Fog

Arm in arm go the couple in white, down the aisle, through the crowd. Vows told in lace, speaking secrets in the midday sun: a bouquet soars across its yellow face. Consummation is a popular word for their grandparents. There’s a quiet announcement in the newspaper: congratulations. Congratulations from friends and family, a high school teacher, a neighbor down the road. Flutes of spirits that sing like bee stings and second helpings of steak. A Bloody Mary drops on the floor. Loosening ties, shimmying off shoes, slipping from dresses getting ready to dance. Loud voices in the barroom, singing on the dance floor: the bride and groom sneak out the back with a bag full of checks and cards. Empty cans of tomato paste clatter down the asphalt, memories of the bride and groom told long after they’re gone. Absolved of old schemes, and disease, and dishonesty, the couple in…

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Ash Engine

FVR Publishing

I’ve always been a Phoenix. From earliest incarnations, scared the begeezus out of myself with random flight.

I became more an engine with every reinvention and rebirth,

scattering ashes to wind and spitting out

a riot of revision,
uprisings amongst embers,
Fahrenheit sacrilege.

Darling, I’ve always been abominable from outside but
imagine how I feel, exploding to just fizzle again;

a gift which feels more burdensome with every beginning.

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Tell Me Something Beautiful

The Lithium Chronicles

Tell me how the sunshine felt on your face
after you dropped to your knees and swore
you could no longer go on.
Tell me that the warmth of its rays reached out
to warm the tears from your eyes
and kiss the cries from your lips.
Tell me you found something beautiful in the breaking,
and when you stood you took it
all away and carried it home with you.
How else could your soul be this golden?
If you hadn’t stolen the sun to fill your heart,
and cram your pockets with its pure light.

© Nicole Lyons 2018

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Obituary 1

Murder Tramp Birthday


When I was thirteen, I discovered that I suffered thorns.

Not the kinds that grow on rose stalks, but soft, fleshy lumps sprouting from my hands. It started as an itch in the palm. Then they reared their ugly, pointy-shaped heads, like a plantation of crocus buds in spring. They grew more prominent with each passing day, bending flesh and bone where they bloom. I tried to shave them off, but they burst painfully, leaving behind infected abscesses and emitting an acidic smell. Each time I cut them off they seemed to grow back bolder and firmer, cracking razor blades, splitting skin. I tried keeping them trimmed for so long, covered my hands with bandages to conceal the suppuration and sprayed perfume into the wounds to mask the stench. The lumps didn’t give up the fight. Slowly, they chiseled out a distance between myself and the rest of the world…

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Of Mother

Insights from "Inside"

the spirits of the ancients

rumble in ochred striations

rasp with copper calls

of the wisdom of the earth.

this petrified sand, here,

that grabs my foot-treads

while I suspect it of slippery treachery

roots me, through the centuries,

in ways only my soles

can wearily fathom.

wild beauty surges through thundering veins

with every startling gust

that reminds me, breathless,

of my cosmic insignificance.

sandstone vistas ransack my wind

as I grasp, mindless and controlling

while my cap is strewn in the dust

with all my careful planning.

long deceased, gnarled juniper branches

smoothed with the oils

of countless fearful

lend strength and support

as stubborn doggedness flags.

there are cliffhangers here

rarefied legends beyond my ken

that cling, dusty and persistent,

to knotted and testy calves.

mother o’erwatches

omnipotent and ever-present

as I traverse her playground.

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