Heavy Petting – Mitch Green


heavy petting b & w

Shallow are the hands –
black in boiling fire.

The voyeur.
The purgatory.
The amateur.

It is on the brow of overcast.
A blip of blue and yellow swelling.
A fever; summer gold.

The adolescent.
The animal.
The drifter.

Small talk by clumsy voices,
wading the quiver. A crystal
girl clouding glass.

The chimera.
The beggar.
The river.

Shallow are the fields –
purging purgatory to the voyeur, while
the amateur and the beggar drown
the drifter in the river.

The pleasure
The sour lotus.
The bloom.

The adolescent animal eats the chimera.
Her boiling black hands; summer gold.


Mitch Green founded Rad Press Publishing in September of 2016. He is an avid artist in visual design and literature. Published in various literary journals and magazines: The Literary Yard. The Penmen Review. Vimfire Magazine – Mitch aims to seize the narrow line between all artistic mediums.

A few of his known poetic titles are: “Flesh Phoenix” “Monsters” “The Wolves Howled”.

Offering his hand in graphic direction – his book design portfolio can be found here.
Follow Mitch and Rad Press Publishing on Instagram.


I Still Don’t Know How To Love Jasper Kerkau

Love is so allusive. Everyone is looking for something that will ultimately disappoint them. I have mild conversation at laundromats and book stores. I have taken up a life of leisure, try to find God in simple things, but it is all so complicated. Everyone is so broken. The disconnection is sad, the broken mirrors and long silences are overwhelming. It only gets worse. We are spiraling into the void. I am not alone. Everyone wants to connect, find meaning with tea leaves and the soft glance that gives hope. So afraid, so sick with the burdens of modern life. I find silence in a quest for the soft flesh pressed against flesh, the simple embrace, the tongue touched to lips. Everything is nothing, at least for those who make a home in the desert, who become sick with the gadgets and toys of our misery. I yearn for something meaningful, but I get lost, hide in strange places. Disconnection didn’t save me. Perhaps forgiveness is salvation, true love is understanding, not groping hands or vapid expression of desire. I spend nights thinking about my failure, the loss, the misery, the abundance that destroyed me. The rat race was a fool’s errand. I learn how to embrace the quiet, but I still don’t know how to love.

[Jasper Kerkau is a writer/editor/co-creator of Sudden Denouement. His personal blog is Jasperkerkauwriting.com]

Melt- Iulia Halatz

I have shared

land and sky

with you.

I have tasted

blood and honey.

My witch-oil turned

to dragon-fire

at your touch…


Soft fingers laid asleep

until your turmoil

woke them

for so long….


It feels like getting drunk

on old reddish wine

long softened

during times of





What shall I pour in your glass?

Molten flowers

Golden ink

Lucid light

Unicorn mirth…


I dig your veins

for gold.

I find pure


amber nuggets.


I fear any story

whose ink

my words

can’t drink…

Yet I drip in yours

ever since.


When your arms call

and your lips

read all my feral kisses

How can there be no heaven?

“Writing is an Iron Tale, must be tough and sincere to the core of human perception of pain as valor. I am the grumpy T-Rex who started writing out of pain, not because of a polished world. Writing out of love is painless and herbivore. As we sometimes taste blood, ours or others’. Nevertheless, some words are so expensive that we are better left with them unspoken or write them with the ink of a Ghost…” She is a teacher, small entrepreneur and cyclist.

Wire in the Blood-Christine Ray/Brave and Reckless

The line

between the face

I show the world

and my shadow self








No longer clear

where one ends

and the other begins


I walk


heel to toe

on the

knife’s edge









the risk


There is

wire in my blood

Tang of copper

Taste of hot iron

when I lick

the rich

red droplets

off my fingers

from the scabs

I deliberately

scratch open


I like

how alive

I feel

when I bleed

There is purity

to my pain

A high



never offers


I know what

I am


to want

But my shadow self

wants to drive

for a while


That part of me

doesn’t give a




This shadow me










There is wire in my blood

and I am the lightening rod

Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless and The Whisper and The Roar and is a managing editor at Sudden Denouement and Secret First Draft.

She is an aspiring badass