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2 poems by noor hindi

5/31/2017

 

BODY SHEDDING ITS OWN BODY

​I’ve been running        along the outskirts
of Akron searching     for a place to put
all of this body   feeling like I’m just
a broken brake pedal        can’t stop
 
thinking           about how my father   
is made of gasoline         you should
see       how he makes everything
 
burn      like our hardwood floors     my mother
’s    tongue      the glass coffee tables     clocks 
set 35 years backwards            beige love seats
deflated pillows     porcelain cups      my skin
 
keeps                glowing    a bright
ember listen    to the way       the fire
cracks  then sizzles listen
 
sometimes there’s nothing        you can do                
but strip   to bone  so that there’s         nothing         
more                  to  burn. 

KEEP CLEAR OF ME: I AM MANEUVERING WITH DIFFICULTY

​Because  it’s  5  A.M  &  I  am  hung  over
sobbing  about   polar  bears   &   climate
change  &  how the moon won’t answer
my  calls.    Because  my  brain  feels  like
Jell-O   &  I am thinking about autumn  &
how   I  feel  more  like  those  leaves  you
drag into a building  with your boots  than
anything   else.     These   days,   I  require
assistance,   more   broken    burrito  than
grape on a vine.    I might be on fire.   I am
dragging   my  anchor  through  this  giant
sea,   73%  of   me   hoping  to  drown.   &
speaking  of water the clouds keep raining
steel as I try to nourish this lavender plant
which my therapist recommended I do.  &
while we’re on  the  topic  of  therapy  who
the fuck decided it’s a good idea  to  sit  &
talk   about   your   feelings  to  a  random
fellow  human.     It  feels  like  cutting  the
grass  with a  cheese grater  or something
​like that.
​**Title and some lines of the poem “Keep Clear of Me: I am Maneuvering with Difficulty” taken from the children’s book Alpha, Bravo, Charlie: The Complete Book of Nautical Codes by Sara Gillingham**
​
✱✱✱
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Noor Hindi is a University of Akron student who is majoring in English and minoring in Creative Writing. After graduation, she hopes to pursue her MFA in poetry. Her poems have appeared in Jet Fuel Review, Diode Poetry, Whiskey Island Magazine, and Polaris Literary Magazine. Hindi is currently a poetry reader for BOAAT Journal and Rubbertop Review. Check out her poetry blog at nervouspoodlepoetry.com. 

this is how door slams formulate by shannon cawley

5/31/2017

 
​constructivism is an obsessable task,
sometimes i wish i were none of it
at all
 
i hate to classify things as bad or good
but how does the dark become something
entirely different in the same space?
 
are they similar?
 
are we? 
 
particles dusted off, painted anew
by some glassy-eyed god or something
 
i want to feel my skin rip off because
how do you get hurt so bad and it
stay intact?
 
just because i want to feel myself burn
doesn’t mean i want to see it
too 
✱✱✱
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Shannon Cawley is currently a student at West Virginia University, majoring in secondary education. Her first chapbook, depression is a thunderstorm and i am a scared dog, is set to be released during the summer of 2017. Shan is an advocate for sexual assault/health rights, as well as mental illness awareness. You can view Shan's work on her author website, shannoncawley.wordpress.com and follow her Twitter/Instagram @shancawleywvu. 

outside gay clubs by cristina munoz

5/31/2017

 
night is yawning, 
asking dawn to take over, 
only i want to stay a little longer,
sitting outside beside you.

we're taking in the scene together
with backs up against a brick wall
our knees, thighs even arms touching.
the bass beat still pumps from inside, 
our fingers strumming in perfect time 
watching those ready to leave go home .

other same sex couples are embracing, 
coming out onto the cooling street.
the boys are being funny bitching
by a group of glamour girls we know. 
we're all laughing at their camp jokes.
out come the Drag Queens reaching 
for their designer sunglasses, whipping 
off their stilettos like weary models 
while we find out if everyone had fun.

the sunrise is bouncing light yellow
off the warehouse's across the road.
we hear the Scene Queens talking softly 
dissecting the best parts of the night,
while handsome androgynous girls 
dressed in men's wear, soft butch style,
keep hoping to hold an interested stare.  
nearly everyone is devouring a Hot Dog
or waiting in the queue by the food truck, 
as satisfied hands rise to hail a taxi ride.

i adore this time outside gay clubs, 
after being out all night partying 
surrounded by the forged strong.
these gay people, my queer kind, 
so, so many fought for kisses linger 
like hard earned victory in the air.

lighting up my last Dunhill Blue
enjoying all of our silly banter
the dance music stops playing, 
see, the bouncers are even going, 
time to make a wonderful decision.
which other home should we drive to?
whose bed will be best for two?
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Cristina Munoz is a queer poet/writer from Australia. First published by Triple J at twenty she stopped submitting her work for over two decades. Since 2016 her poetry is appearing in 'Hellbent Magazine', 'Wanderlust Magazine' & she is a contributor at 'Spillwords' & 'HerHeartPoetry'. Her poetry is fuelled by music so along with working on her first poetry collection she manages SoundOfWomen.com

saturday book fair by sarah marchant

5/31/2017

 
​My mother is wearing her new
turquoise jacket - a warning flare.
My brother, his bedclothes.
I do not remember what my father
is wearing.

A child throws his grandmother's voice
in walkie talkie style cinema.
Girls with blue hair
go where you'd expect them to.
Paperbacks spilling dirty words
on my red shoes.
A woman finds a box for me.

Languidly, I uncurl -
surprise lilies in the rain,
the white bread days of August.
In this height of splendor,
I am tense.
Every woman with thick bangs
is you. Every Saturday
without a second cup of coffee.
Every wish
mumbled into a snowstorm.

I am a tiger, yowling
in a gauze cocoon.
I am waiting for
the avalanche of smoke
that will smother me.
All this pink
cannot live here.
✱✱✱
Sarah Marchant is a freelance writer and poet in the Midwest. A lot of her time is spent making playlists or watching tattoo videos on YouTube, and she's probably drinking coffee right now. Keep up with her work on Twitter at @apoetrybomb.

driving in the georgia rain by nicholas bon

5/31/2017

 
the uncertain consequence of violent waves
like feeling everything all at once
 
these discrete instances
moving too quickly (see: movie frames)
(see: memories) (see: blooming)
 
cut off all your hair while we're waiting here
 
everything is different from everything
 
we speak in polaroids and sand
each new feeling presenting itself timidly
like a bud emerging through the frost
 
you young buildings with your opalescent fish scales
you sky with your never-ending potential
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Nicholas Bon lives in Georgia, where he edits Epigraph Magazine. You can find his recent poems in UCity Review, Right Hand Pointing, and elsewhere. Visit him online at nicholasbon.com.
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