Two Poems, by Tony Mancus
you put the penny next to the periscope
and made them kiss
like it was their birthday in the year
you forgot to get the kitchen reupholstered
First Comes Love, Then Comes Chicken, by Maggie Downs
It was my twentieth birthday, and my boyfriend asked me to close my eyes and hold out my hand.
Erika Eiffel, by C.L. Bledsoe
The tower is not a phallus, it’s the iron tongue
of the Earth which tastes the void in the skies.
Three Boys, by Jen Michalski
She had never been this close to a boy, close enough to feel the scratch of chest hairs on her back, the rough, warm pressure of fingers cinching her waist.
The Composed Soul, by Anna Leahy
In 2010, I unexpectedly secured a media badge via my university’s magazine to see a space shuttle launch at Kennedy Space Center.
Two Poems, by Julia Shipley
SLUG POEM
(after Elizabeth Spires)
I want to say how I feel about you
animated booger, kin of phlegm ingesting your
A Kleptomaniac Love Story, by Lucie Britsch
I take things
Things that aren’t mine
Why would I take my own things?
As in the Case of the Squirrel, Love Means Eating Crow, by M. Bartley Seigel
Grey squirrels live in my soffits. Not the albino squirrels I see running around my neighborhood, though they are grey squirrels, too?
Three Poems, by Mary Stone
[JENNIFER GETS OVER HER EX]
She realizes it’s been months
since she logged into his email
or checked his browsing history
Mannequin Head, by Sean Higgins
Uncle Royce runs out of flophouses to nest up in—halfway joints managed by chain-smoking program pukes with carry permits and ten-year chips in their khaki shorts.
Two Poems, by D. Gilson
THE SUMMER I HALF DATED A ROCK STAR
How much longer are we going to look
for Arby’s?
Please Be Careful With Your Eyes, by Colleen Abel
Believe me, I know from hands. I think I could recognize us just that way: ArtiezToyz has clean, broad fingernails and almost hairless knuckles. MPHotWheels wears a gold watch on his left hand.
Two Poems, by Rita Feinstein
THE IMAGINARY LOVER TOXICITY SCALE
1. Lover is harmless. Nameless and faceless, a composite rockstar with Adam Levine’s forearms and young Bono’s dark hair.
Jesus of the Milk Bottles, by Shannon Reed
When I was five, I had a milk bottle which I thought was Jesus.
A Partial List, by Richard Z. Santos
Despite all he accomplished, here’s a partial list of things Bowie never did:
Can You Hear Me, Major Tom?, by Ally Malinenko
It was probably 1985. Yes, that sounds right. That would make me eight. My oldest sister, seven years my senior, ruled the stereo and record collection as oldest sisters are wont to do.
The Stars Look Different, by Eileen Tomarchio
I was twelve when I first heard Space Oddity.
This was the early 1970s, when even the popular kids were sad and disconnected. I just knew them as mean, so I spent a lot of time in my own company.