Issue III: hestia (hearth & home) is now available to download! The digital download is completely free but if you wish to donate/pay as you feel, you can do so through the Donate tab. Issue III: hestia (hearth & home) explores what home means to us all through poetry, prose, photography & artwork. Contributors reveal how […]
Issue III released
the beeping and the blinking
and the math on the wires
monitors and iv drips
blue and silver serial numbers
of the medical equipment
sent tiny shocks of stress
directly to his sweat soaked head
since adolescence
the only way he knew
how to soothe himself
after a stressful situation
or how to survive
a dry period
between snorts or shots
was to savor the sensation
of his rolling eyes
to the back of his neck
after a good junk score
it started with strained nerves
abstract jittery eyelids
tiny tear drops sweeping
from the corners of his eyes
then tenebrosity
gunning through pin-hole pupils
the relief of a private world now televised
his relief
the private world
painted with garish French carnival colors
golds that were green
reds that were milky blood pink
old ship ropes and Macaque monkeys
like the ones from a Burroughs’ dream
twinkling moths scurry from the bulb
carefully knit filigree cobweb
as an exclusive lampshade serves
they bounce and leap
a circus extravaganza
in the colors of night
old houses chipped wood
smell of old books and history
then there’s the really busy moths
with patterned powder wings
the beautiful ones
gathered up in a bouquet
innocently placed
by the spider’s gothic cloister
sometimes randomly i ask the light
whisper through me it might help
dear light
have you ever been prayed to
i would assume so
and if not that means i’m the first
finally at last
tonight
i will not settle
for chords
electrically or naturally strummed
nor radios or streaming services
i shall not partake
of what you have created
Tesla dear
tonight
i am happy with the cutting of the air
watermelon slicing sounds
of the ceiling fans
or the cricket
dressed in green and brown velvet
chirping at my cat
tonight the city bred howls of coyotes
at 11:43 PM
is what i want to hear
maybe i might decide to cut up pictures and squoosh a paint brush full of podge unto my board
the dowry for the clipping that will marry it before Fall
tonight i want to hear the groans of pleasure and of pain
rise up from sewer pipes and circulate out of the city drain
my curiosity will sustain
an unknown hunger
that causes me to sit
ever so corpse like still
and hear the birds
crackling the dried leaves
of the tree trunk lobby
during their intermission
while attending
their own mourning dove
cooing philharmonic
words less spoken 