Introducing Aurora Phoenix – ‘The Uprising’

there is a primal roar

building within her

founded on the

atoms of dirt

scrounged by grappling-hooked toes

scavenging salvation

from precipice’s

teetering edge

as they curled

in orgasmic throes

of borrowed ecstasy

 

the rumble surges

up exasperated tendons

above scabbed knees

upon which they forced her

failed to keep her

despite repeated bloody

bludgeonings

 

the portending implosion

reverberates cataclysmic

through hallowed

and maligned walls

of her invaded

as yet unvanquished

vagina

 

the latent blast

rises roiling

beyond belly churning

beset with tormented butterflies

swallowed under duress

with teaspoonfuls of shame

taking her medicine

 

the gathering blast

trembles with the

accumulated heartaches

of feminine generations

spasms aortically

spurting crimson

crushed inequities

 

the impending cosmic levitation

upends flustered follicles

as lightening

bolts of righteous rage

flash incendiary shafts

from eyes and lips and tongue

 

the lacerating howl

tears her asunder

unleashes her tether

to a byzantine past

shreds constraints

denudes her quivering

purest soul

 

 


[Aurora Phoenix: I spent over 2 decades as a clinical psychologist, prior to the decimation of my world when I was suddenly incarcerated 2 and a half years ago. My writing was born in that caged existence – not a choice but a soul-saving necessity.  I write as Aurora Phoenix at Insights from “Inside”]

Writer Spotlight: Ward Clever – Demons, Unicorns, and Cupid’s Assassins

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[Photo Lillian Gish]

We will be spotlighting our writer’s periodically. Today, I wanted to focus on the work of Ward Clever and his page Demons, Unicorns, and Cupid’s Assassins. I became aware of Ward’s work early on in my journey on WordPress and having him in our humble collective has been a great joy.  His latest work, The Knife, Sharpened; The Senses, Dulled, showcases his mastery of language, as well as his sage-like wisdom. Please take a moment and read his latest work.

https://wardclever.wordpress.com/

Jasper Kerkau

 

 

Viperidae – Howl Davies

You are a dangerous game,
my paralyzed portrait of sweet disposition,
my little nest of vipers,
painted arsenic like sugar,
I don’t want to shoot up –
crack the ribs,
defile the prison,
defile the sanctuary
and drive it straight to the heart,
pump, pump, burst,
make me worthy,
make me a martyr in my own right,
string up and collapse my lungs,
my depleting feeble lungs, rot,
paint over the coarse black taint
coated fumes of my
first home burning,
your transgressions,
your violence,
your horror,
your paperclip demonology circle
of office rituals and nameless memos
oh, how I obsess over you,
the caress of your venomous words,
the way I picture you;
your depriving cobalt eyes,
hunchbacked over a cat-skull-lantern,
obsolete as the nuclear gods,
are you satisfied?
never
have I come so close to
being paralyzed,
stone breath vision,
gorgon Viperidae, succulent
sidewinder black lies, I can taste
you on my teeth,
my dear,
turn me to stone,
make a saint out of me.


[Howl Davies is the groundskeeper of The Sounds Inside. Also? “Cat-skull-lantern” is one of the coolest fucking things I’ve ever heard. – Sam L.]

As We Are – Max Meunier

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As We Are – Max Meunier

the consequence
your kiss requites
e’er moors my heart’s
intrinsic orbit

gravity
of your exert
affords each breath
its fate anewed

the magnitude
felt by your presence
stays the precipice of earth

your words avow validity
to voices once devoid
of venue

emptiness was heretofore
now understated
understood

stoic walls
electric impulse
chemicals, reactive substrates

ushered by the impetus
of oscillating frequencies
athwart velocities in flux

a symphonic polarity
imploding spectrums infinite
through spectred trials
of flesh profound

resounding far beyond
the vacuous expanse of space
in timeless incarnations
as we are

Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations.  I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe.  He writes at Max Meunier Dissocative Void.

 

Dustin Pickering Interview

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New interview with Dustin Pickering. Dustin is important artist, publisher, and writer. Please take a moment and read his interview. He has been a force of nature in publishing, and I am proud to call him a friend and mentor. He is a bold force in literature and needs to be heard. We are proud to have him as a member of SD.

http://duanespoetree.blogspot.com/2017/06/dustin-pickering-responds.html

From my personal experience, Dustin is a writer who challenges the status quo.

Jasper Kerkau

Rebuild A Heart-valve – Mick Hugh

The rain had beaten holes in our backs and it was my idea to come here. 2,000 miles from home. You owned a Mazda and I owned a dream, and together we had $40 and no place to sleep. So we did what we always did best. We scrounged, rags and happiness up and down the sidewalk. New friends, old acquaintances, same familiar taste for bum wine. No mattress but a pile of blankets on an old neighbor’s floor but the walls were hard and hid our dirty fucking well. Drunk on rooftops, drunk in alleys, drunk in bars, drrrrrrunk in the library ‘cus it opened at 7 just after the sun and had couches in the stacks to hide our bum lovin’ selves. Towers shined downtown. Neons shined crosstown near the arena. Eyes shined tits shined cocks shined. Dreams hid behind clouds. Nose bled. Knuckles bled in drywall. Hunger struck well. Fever came to days flush red with sun baking without a drop on the promenade. Dry-out, please just dry-out. Uptown sprints to catch delivery trucks, clandestine missions lifting cases of cans. Rowdy downtown. Rowdy uptown. Rowdy ‘cross the college campus getting sex out of wild freshmen. You were talking ‘bout New Jersey and the hills you grew up in. You moved our blankets to the far side of the floor. Leave me stranded, will you, just lock the god damn door? Sail off in your pretty cloud ship, leave the wasteland far behind. You had the keys and the gas and the paycheck I couldn’t steal, a heart I couldn’t hear. I’ll guide you to the alley and watch you beg for bread. Hike up those legs and shut the god damn door. Shut the door and let me wander and close your eyes till I get back. Let me see it from a distance.

I’ll come back sane.


[Mick is a writer/editor for Sudden Denouement, as well as being creator of Mick’s Neon Fog. He has been published in various publications, most recently in Junto Magazine.]

 

Need for a sick bag – Nathan McCool

I’m a rare coated stag. Gut shot for sport and
forgotten in a field of
painted moonlight.
The hunt is over, the storm is here. Beauty
all sheathed inside a gun barrel…
I think I’m dead now. I need a new scene.

I’m the out of tune keys on a piano, that
some rusted god keeps playing before he
heads off to a bookstore
where he constantly asks,

“Got any remedial shit with no substance?”

“Yeah. Check any shelf” the faceless
pseudo-librarian says back.

And the more he reads and the more he reads and
the more and more…
it’s just more hope he loses;
arms just getting tired of holding pages
burdened with
cliché poems and redundant stories.
(Have I read this before?)

“But really? You cut down a tree for this shit?”

It had more real poetry beforehand.

Now the rusted god goes to sleep and
now I am the rusted god.
And the only thing either of us still hopes for
is that if I publish a book it never comes here.

Not to visit.
Not to fuck.
And especially not to die.

***

Tucked away behind some shit book
about learning to love yourself I find
Nick Cave’s “Sick Bag Song”…
Now that’s a god damn jewel!


[Nathan McCool is the dark lord over on Instagram at God Of Dregs.]