You know when you have something amorphous inside that needs to come out, so you flip thru one of the books on your desk (Songs from the Blimp Ruins... what a book title!), and someone else has managed to solidify just a wisp of that fog.
"Tilt" by @pdforan.bsky.social @antiheroinchic.bsky.social
"Newly of-age at the pool hall bar
next to the Goodwill and the EPA superfund
site where a Sears sat rusting riverside
in West Lafayette, Indiana, we were girls
against boys at the table... We were
holding our own"
heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/poetry-...
Six days left. Step into the clearing with us. We got stars, like jagged little blessings, to count. heroinchic.weebly.com
A great poem on grieving(and not) in @antiheroinchic.bsky.social
"as for me,
sticking around is what I do, cleaver cleaving.
Marigolds used to taste
sour to me.
Now I pour hot water over them, make a tea
to say:
be in the world you’ve got.
Even dry ground can grow."
heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/poetry-...
Four more days till submissions close for our July issue. heroinchic.weebly.com
"I’m Madame Butterfly
& he’s Lieutenant Pinkerton.
I’m down to one wing.
In a game of mercy
he palms a stone.
Some things are equally painful:
A nail in the wrist.
A forehead kiss.
My brief dalliance,
on a dating app."
"I am still surrounded by chaos, calamity, and calmlessness.
Yet
I am blessed to be experiencing concordance, comfort, and calm.
Why?
I am where my heart is."
"My mother gives away everything in her house, the taste of cow’s tongue and silence in the morning.
She wants to leave the past in the past.
My shelves are filling up, my fridge is full of meat.
We turn each other slowly in the light, squinting for a clearer view."
"I come from mountain stock, and I can confirm
that death slithers in like the fog at Craggy Mountain.
Surrounds the bed on his time, pulls himself up,
and sweeps over the trails, hills, and valleys of the body
until it covers the mouth."
Anti-Heroin Chic is a literary journal of poetry, photography, art work, stories, essays, and interviews, welcoming those who have been left out by literary gatekeepers. It's also a safe anti-drug-add...
Ian Abbott CC Female Pleasure Newly of-age at the pool hall bar next to the Goodwill and the EPA superfund site where a Sears sat rusting riverside in West Lafayette, Indiana, we were girls ...
hnt6581 CC PAPILLON He mounts my wings to the dartboard-- throws a knife. Apple of my eye he says. I’m Madame Butterfly & he’s Lieutenant Pinkerton. I’m down to one wing. In a game of...
Gerry Dincher CC The Last Day of Hospice, 9 Days before Christmas A small bird, legs tucked tight, wings askew. Mouth open, as if waiting for nourishment, a quick breath of relief. Low moans...
bronx. Flickr CC Tilt Can you put me on tilt? my leaning son asks. He can’t help this leaning, even though he’s seat-belted and secure in this wheelchair he’s been sitting in living...
Lara604 CC Careful Out There I grow nettles in my garden, & thistles. Their soft pricks brush & sting but I love to crush one plant’s leaves & grind...
Thomas and Dianne Jones CC This Season A bird flies into a window, turns around, and flies into it again. And so it goes, my season of hopefulness. I squeeze soft snow, let my hot hands turn it...
Gerry Dincher CC After My Father Died, Nine Years Later You Left Me and I stared straight through the counselor. The frozen silence was broken with an ice-pick of a statement, “You...
"I am still surrounded by chaos, calamity, and calmlessness.
Yet
I am blessed to be experiencing concordance, comfort, and calm.
Why?
I am where my heart is."
Gerry Dincher CC After My Father Died, Nine Years Later You Left Me and I stared straight through the counselor. The frozen silence was broken with an ice-pick of a statement, “You...
