persona non grata by J.J. Campbell

i just washed my hands for 
the twentieth time today

i have a mask that goes 
with every t-shirt i wear

being a loner, i have always 
been ahead of the curve with 
being socially distant

hell, i see these beautiful women 
walk by day after day and i might 
as well be the living embodiment 
of persona non grata

there’s a sad song playing in 
the distance

if life was a movie, this would be 
the time for a shocking death

or for the main character to reveal 
some startling truth

but everyone already knows 
about being molested

nearly being killed by the father

drinking and driving

failed suicide attempts

the abortions

the old lovers

the lesbian that still haunts 
the dreams

perhaps, it is time for a sunset 
and a lonely boy accepting fate

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) was raised by wolves yet managed to graduate high school with honors. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Red Eft Review, The Beatnik Cowboy, Synchronized Chaos, Horror Sleaze Trash and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

panther hollow lubrication by Jason Baldinger

it wasn't the night security

almost caught him pissing
in a potted plant, it was wild
turkey and pbr, panther hollow
lubrication, mostly competent
velvet underground covers
here comes the ocean
 
the reverend was blackout
blotto into the wall
outside his apartment
fractured his wrist
a fact hidden till the next day
 
that winter was mid shelf
bottom shelf tours
the snow would come
the next night
twenty five inches deep
 
my housemate and I
run the penn ave iditarod
to dj a valentine shindig
we tried to neutral slide
down 40th, couldn't
bailed to an open grocery
if the weather wanted hostages
at least we'd have limes
 
in the snowdrift dunes
the icehole days to come
no one would come
to the next gallery show
canceled. the touring band
talked about nothing
except jared leto

maybe you don't know this

but leto owns a decommissioned
military base in laurel canyon
not far from where charles manson
was employed by the cia
to kill what they call the sixties
 
decades are decorations
skimmed surface of memories
blurred on a precipice
of collateral damage
and barely keeping shit together
another hangover close at hand
 
in nicotine and suicide attempts
the reverend was right
don't get your hopes up

Jason Baldinger is a poet from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. 

 A former Writer in Residence at Osage Arts Community, he is co-founder of The Bridge Series.

 He has multiple books available including and Everyone’s Alone Tonight with James Benger (Kung Fu Treachery Press) 

the chapbook Blind Into Leaving (Analog Submission Press) as well as the forthcoming Afterlife is a Hangover (Stubborn Mule Press). His work has been published widely in print journals and online. You can listen to him read his work on Bandcamp and on lps by the bands Theremonster and The Gotobeds.

I Will Never Be Ready by Kevin M. Hibshman

I watch as your body becomes painfully thin.
Your veins showing through your ashen flesh.
Food has long since lost any appeal to you.
I make sure you eat something every day.

You are mired to your favorite spot.
The sofa we made into a bed.
All of your favorite things within easy reach.
You fall into fitful sleep whenever you are able to.
Surrounded by artifacts from a world we once shared.

We have not surrendered.
We have accepted the hard facts.
Your pain has made you even more beautiful to me.
I have often asked for the impossible.
I am asking again as
I will never be ready for you to leave me.

Kevin M. Hibshman has had poems published in many journals and magazines world wide. In addition, he has edited his poetry zine, Fearless, since 1990 and is the author of sixteen chapbooks including Love Sex Death Dreams (Green Bean Press, 2000) and Incessant Shining (Alternating Current, 2011).

Demon by Linnet Phoenix

I am jealous
of this she-devil
a spirit siren
that holds you
in her thrall
would that I 
could dilute her
devastating call
smash glasses
watch a fatal spill

Linnet Phoenix is a poet who currently resides in North Somerset, England. She has been writing poetry for years. Her work has previously been published in Heroin Love Songs, Punk Noir Magazine, ImpSpired Magazine and others. With poems in the upcoming Spring 2021 edition of Poetica Review. She also enjoys horse-riding in rainstorms.

Double Maker’s by Brian Harman

It started at the Tartan Room,
a side door dive bar 
for the up in years, Rick’s 
longtime Harley stop, a place 
for those who would drink 
a Rusty Nail with a T-bone.
I should have ordered 
an old Scotch on the rocks,
but it was my co-worker
Steve’s going away hangout,
and so, it was a double
Maker’s Mark, and another,
and as soon as the Tartans 
took over the room, it was 
off to Marty’s down Tustin 
Avenue, an even more 
casual hole, with pool tables, 
darts, a bartendress who’d 
been there forever. A couple
tequila shots and a pitcher
of beer later, a few friends
dropped off, so we called it,
headed to NORMS for some 
greasy, late night steak 
and eggs. In the booth, after 
a bite or two, that’s when 
I must have fallen asleep,
head resting forward, 
face above the 7.99 T-bone, 
hash browns, and over 
mediums. When I awoke,
the steak and eggs didn’t
sit well, didn’t smell right,
and after getting home,
I fluffed the porcelain 
pillow, too old for this shit 
anymore— should have
just ordered a Rusty Nail.

BRIAN HARMAN lives in Southern California where can be found drinking craft beers and writing late night poetry. His work has been published in Misfit Magazine, Nerve Cowboy, Chiron Review, and elsewhere. His poetry collection, Suddenly, All Hell Broke Loose!!! is available through Picture Show Press. 

New Found Friends by S. A. Gerber

Never too high, 
sometimes too low. 
Never enough whiskey, 
not enough blow. 
 
Women flock close, 
aiming to please. 
draining the substance, 
greatest of ease. 
 
New found friends, 
come and go. 
When to bail, 
they instinctively know. 
 
When holding, there’s  
always a crowd. 
When you’re dry, 
just dark clouds. 
 
Drunk by day 
and by night. 
Reality is fading 
losing the fight. 
 
Place now chilled, 
to the bone. 
Phone is ringing, 
better off alone. 

S. A. Gerber is a native and resident again of Los Angeles, CA. after having spent  twenty-four years in a neighboring “city of sin” in the Silver State of Nevada. 

His work has appeared in such diverse publications as Desert Voices Magazine… 

Subtopian Magazine…Talking Sidewalks… Mad Swirl, (where he is a “contributing 

Poet”)… Sediment Literary and Arts Journal… Poetica Magazine… Black Heart Magazine… The Blue Collar Review…Los Angeles Review of Los Angeles… The Linden Avenue Literary Journal…The Poet’s Haven…Stray Light Literary Magazine… Literature in Los Angeles Magazine… Opiate Magazine… Pacific Poetry… Neologism Poetry Journal…The Lyric…Free Venice Beachhead… The Shot Glass Journal…,Dove Tales-“Empathy in Art: Embracing the Other”, Writing for Peace, International Journal of the Arts, and Alien Buddha Press-Holiday Anthology-2020. 

He is also a member of the Los Angeles Poet’s Society, (where his work can be found “Spotlighted” on their website). 

His three (3) volumes of poetry, Under the Radar, Inventory, and Old School Rhyme can all be obtained on Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com, as well as Beyond Baroque Bookstore in Venice, Ca. The Amber Unicorn in Las Vegas, NV. The Book Monster in Santa Monica, Ca. , The Book Jewel in Westchester, Ca. and  City Lights Bookstore, San Francisco, Ca. 

 

Jack & Lucy by Lauren Scharhag

I keep feeling soft thumps 

on the edge of the bed at night.

Startled from sleep, 

I raise my head and look,

but you are not there.

I am still picking your fur

from the fibers of my clothes.

The towels in the laundry basket 

retain the indent of your form.

Some of my books were mauled by you

in kittenhood, covers still dotted

with little tooth and claw marks,

a sort of feline Braille.

I touch them and recall

you pushing your head

into my palm. 

Our time has made me--

I am loveless and adored.

I am empty and full.

I am lonely and never lonely.

I am joyless and overjoyed.

Lauren Scharhag is the author of fourteen books, including Requiem for a Robot Dog (Cajun Mutt Press) and Languages, First and Last (Cyberwit Press). Her work has appeared in over 150 literary venues around the world. Recent honors include the Seamus Burns Creative Writing Prize, three Best of the Net nominations, and acceptance into the 2021 Antarctic Poetry Exhibition. She lives in Kansas City, MO. To learn more about her work, visit: www.laurenscharhag.blogspot.com