149 lede

Bats. by Max Schleicher

AT the CONCRETE canal, I'd see one fly  /  spade-winged, escape-driven, skidding the wind,  /  a shadow struggling to slip its ties,  /  and one behind my shoulder vanishing  /  in wooden clicks down the onion-skin creek,  /  then two or three above repelled apart  /  with one shooting the bank, bent on its meat—  /  and I’d remember to be home by dark. ...READ MORE


1. It has nothing to do with the banjo – this chair

aches for wheels that will rust, wobble
the way riverbeds grow into something else

–where there was a mouth, there’s now wet dirt
and with a single gulp the Earth is drained
by a compass that points to where it’s from

PSYCHIATRIC SYMBOLOGY + another, by Jenna-Nichole Conrad

along the highway in tennessee, a triplet of crucifix stare from a hilltop. their shadows drag the way a leopard drags a kill to scraggly treetops, or a leper drags a fingernail across open lesions. it is a suffocating presence, and in a sharp moment of acute relapse, The Lord’s Prayer crawls free of my vocal chords.

Peel. by Aidan Walker

Isn’t dark yet, but the moon’s out.
I can see her bleach-white face
From where I lie beside the peeled fence

Piss-Diddle & THREE more, by JD DeHart

It's a dance to relieve one's
self in a public place,
one leg here, a foot there,
a want to change of clothes,
spatters of others on the floor,
failure to wipe, failure to remove,
out of paper towels, the flow
of the water spout will not filter
me, does not see me, all I can do
is read the scribble on the wall.

Now That I Have Twitter Followers by Kastalia Medrano

Due to my recent influx of Twitter followers, I'd like to now try a few jokes and general observations that were just way too good to waste before, when I only had like 246.

– If I was an educational science rapper, my rap battle name would be Food Chainz.

– Soccer is pretty much the opposite of hockey, fight–wise.

The Daydream Real Estate Scandal by M.J. Valentine

Copsing Smith wasn't being yelled at because fertile acres of prime dreamland weren't sprouting the babies Mrs. Clutterback planted last year, or even because dark matter had been rattling through the corridors and keeping everyone awake; but because somewhere in the Sleeper's memory, there was a bathtub in an attic that just kept on overflowing, flooding all the worlds downstairs.