who kills, father time?
time who kills:
startling with the drip of a chrysalis stuck threading in a tapered night that once slurped on breast milk and sour bread. a man where clearwing moths have suckled in.
though he peals in fishnets, loud in a mouthy reservoir of silk,
cum is mud, and mud-worms next to a flaring wing, flowering on a spectral chin, making a seedling.
he’s supine underneath the antlers of his boney hands, he’s castrated
or perhaps submerged in the deepest pore of hell. his sons are the immaterial sky, the apathetic sea, the under-dark.
parents, handfuls of dirt, the bleeding ulcers inside the intestines of earth.
time who kills
father time, luxuriating in an oblong sludge, in chianti bottles marked vintage,
“vintage has to be over twenty-five years,” that cunt would squawk, “antique has to be over 100.”
where are the unwashed dishes shattering in his back molars, reheating last weeks dust.
he leaves his sails in the oven now where they can start a fire.
let it all fucking burn,
“whore never cooked.”
time who kills, alone in an unmarked bed, opening himself like a spider, projecting a tense movie on the popcorn ceiling of his nostalgic mind.
time who kills the woman ambulating in an uncanny valley, a fisted note in her pocket with red ink: love is dead, it was never born. there is no god. marriage is misery. the baby’s breath in your dreams, the rigid blue hydrangea and promiscuous rose on your white day, better left arranged at a funeral.
“…throw roses into the abyss and say: ‘here is my thanks to the monster who didn’t succeed in swallowing me alive.’”- Frederick Nietzsche
[Samantha Lucero writes stuff sometimes at six red seeds.]
Sometimes all I want is for you to hold me. Let me feel your strength. Let me smell you, feel your arms around me and know you’re real.
I want to tell you how much you mean to me.
But, instead, I’m frozen in silence. And it’s only in those moments when I think you won’t really look at me, and see how much I’m feeling — how much I’m hurting — or hear me if I say something, that any sounds escape my lips.
The words you do hear are often apologies. Beneath the hundreds upon hundreds of I’m sorrys, what I really want to say is that I wish it could be better for you.
Because you don’t deserve to share my misery.
You shouldn’t have to be my savior.
Sarah Doughty is the tingling wonder-voice behind Heartstring Eulogies. She’s also the author of The Silence Between Moonbeams, her poetry chapbook, and the acclaimed novels and novellas of the Earthen Witch Universe. Good news, they’re all offered for free, right here! To learn more about how awesome Sarah is, check out her website, stalk her on Goodreads, or both.
HUSH written by Nicole Lyons, is a searing collection of poems that takes the reader on an emotional ride, through the tunnel of mental illness and reckless love.
Nicole Lyons’ voice undulates from pain to ecstasy, at breakneck speed. Erotic, soulful and authentic, Nicole has written a raw memoir encapsulated in poems. Stepping off the cliff, delving into HUSH, readers will find themselves breathless and wanting more. -Julie Anderson
The first book from Nicole Lyons is now available here.
Hush cover design: Sherri Smith
Hush cover model: Julie Anderson
Hush cover photo: Paul Empson Photography
You can read a glowing review by Jasper Kerkau here, and if you’re interested in reading some of the galaxy’s most liberating, moving words, I recommend that you follow the amazon link above. Nicole Lyons is the creatrix of The Lithium Chronicles, as well as being a consulting editor and writer at Sudden Denouement.
This poetry collection has a beginning, middle and an end. It covers two months’ worth of misadventures in the life of an embittered and slightly arrogant young woman who decides to quit her job to become a poet out of spite after being called a few choice names. Sometimes you will like her, sometimes you may not. Sometimes you may laugh or cry or want your money back. But life’s not very fair that way, now is it?
This is a coming of age story, and that age is almost thirty.
Georgia Park is creator of Private Bad Thoughts, curator of Whisper and the Roar a feminist literary collective, and a writer for Sudden Denouement
A brief, rave review by Jasper Kerkau can be found here. And if you’re interested in witnessing one of earth’s most epic poets in motion, you can invest in her work here.
If you are not following Whisper and the Roar, you should be!
Whisper and the Roar, a member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective family is a Feminist Literary Collective (& outlaw poets swearing). It is the badass brainchild of Miss Georgia Park, of Private Bad Thoughts. The writing is not all overtly feminist but the writers are. It the home of some very exciting content you should be reading.
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Interested in submitting your writing to Whisper and the Roar?
Ms. Georgia Park wants to hear from the feminists, downtrodden minorities, incarcerated, comedians, seductive, robust, ex addicts, the in love and liking it-but most of all, the poets.
Send your submissions (up to three previously unpublished pieces, images to accompany each piece, and a link to your blog if applicable) to firstname.lastname@example.org
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