By Corey A.D. -- Bulldagger, staring daggers, at the sludge upon the ground. Her lez has their legs covered in it's slurry. The dirt stains and drowns calves covered by their gown. It's less like they let it happen and more like they don't share her fury. Fury-filled dyke has her dyad but what graces her lips is a frown. Since mud leers but never learns That they are taken and a lezzy.

By Pleco Philodendron -- I hear her when she’s lurking, an anklet And toe rings, and I smell it in her hair— The ring around the toilet bowl, the sink, The fringe of offset yellows that creep Up the shower coverings, the safari In her sheets. I imagine breathing hot Inflammatorily through the nostrils Flaring snot since the nose is pressed Against the skull too closely, the sheen Of wiping on the sleeve, the food caught In the dales of her chins’ multiplicities: What refuge d

By Julia Rose Maseda -- His hands hold me like they are the sharpest of knives, Painful. Enduring the pressure I bear with each breath I take. But just like a cut, there is warmth in every ounce of blood His hands draw from my skin. Its only when he lets go That I feel the cold air On the wounds he left. Then, he grabs me again, and thankful I am, I’m warm once more. Forgetting how I became cold in the first place- (before?) and when he leaves again, (Oh?) how cold I will be-

By Mandolin Thorne -- Challenge me and my convictions Cover me in premonitions “The Nephilim are sleeping still!” ...but they’re asking me to kill Stray renegades among the Fae Warned You it would be this way I know it’s so, for I was told While in the Faerie Lands of gold Where we awakened slow and lazy The nature of our essence hazy “It is time to go.” they said “For all the world believes you dead.” Now fire is hot; fire it burns Up from the ashes a Pheonix returns So dead

By Debi McKee -- All I’ve learned and been told is to work your hardest, never fold You’ll reap in profits, the world’s riches in diamonds and gold All you have to do is try until you succeed Well, I’ve been trying until my hands bleed This barren earth is where I planted my seeds As I look up, I see this world of mine is all dusty plains When damp green grasslands are what I need Pray the dreary yellow sky turns viridescent blue when it rains Will it rain? Any moisture in th

By Aaron Aguirre -- Form is found by its absence. From the empty space beside me, And the flowers untouched in the hills. I know it from my warm feet, covered by wool on winter nights. How I wish to turn and see drool at the edge of her lips—mine. Moonlit flowers at the bedside—hers. With a heart warm and feet cold.

By Aaron Aguirre -- I dream of saffron windows And quivering trumpets, A sway of shadows on sunset-stained walls. I dream of home, in my arms, and on my neck.

By Aaron Aguirre -- Some find it silly, But loss is a beautiful thing. It ventures where we dare not, Where we hardly get to see. And presses against that small, gentle thing. May it have fields to burn, May they burn bright, May you feel their warmth in your throat And in your eyes.

By John Grey -- I was out of the house, on my own at last. “You’ll regret it,” my parents said. My first apartment boasted crates as chairs and a mattress for a bed. Its three rooms were so cramped it felt like the walls were hugging me. I didn’t have a car which was just as well as there was no allotted parking space for my hovel within a hovel. I ate haphazardly, slept restlessly, sat uncomfortably, entertained unfortunately. I didn’t just live there, I became the place, st

By John Grey -- My issue is that I’m visible. Step out of my house, and sidewalks put me on display, roads sell tickets to my every move, and the sun shines its spotlight wherever I take a step. Every car, every window, every face, every eye, is a camera. I merely scratch my nose and it’s somebody’s “More news at eleven.” Or I glance at a pretty woman and it’s “This just in.” Or I carry on a conversation with an even prettier woman that I happen to see on the street. (It’s be

By Robert Beveridge -- The monster always lurks in the background, of course; if you see it, you don’t leave the bedroom alive. Its talons form the shape of presents, wrapped in red, tied with five ribbons sharp enough to take your fingers before you even know you were shaking hands. Some of us, to our credit, turn away, walk as far and as fast as we can, family in tow. We know without the need to look the rebellious teen is keyed up, crouched in the perfect tuck, pupils fixe

By Robert Beveridge -- That ever-hungry fire that consumed us now ash you left for greener pastures and lustful poppyfields while I stayed locked in our room on the third floor of some nameless apartment building the bed the perfect size your picture is still on the nightstand turned towards the wall

By Robert Beveridge [Winner: 1st Place] -- broadway, between 70th and 89th: it's after sundown and still the vegetable stands are open, their owners full-throated about the supreme quality of their cabbage, their papyas, even their clearance carrots in the back alley tongues meet, do battle against the quiet, sterling field of teeth: when black changes to red it's not what they do but the lights of the police car that passes, illuminates the monks at the other end there are g

By John Grey [Winner: 2nd Place] -- I kneel down in a garden watch tiny insects go about their tiny insect business when I remark to myself how they do just the kind of stuff people do whether it’s nibbling on what’s handy building things sniffing flowers hanging out together only there’s more of them and to be honest I don’t like their looks. Then I spy a butterfly bright gold deep black flitting gracefully from flower to flower. All it takes is one flutter of wing and I m

By Debi McKee [Winner: 3rd Place] -- In the intersection there were cars Just as in the sky there are never no stars I was marred by people just like me from my destination I would cut right through them if not for my hesitation My objective was more important, as was I Roaring tires and smoke filling the sky They should try and see it from my perspective For my own goals, I would indeed plow ahead Although I could end up wrecked and dead But the light yet remained red And