By A. Bryan Cirulis
one cruel joke:
poisoned tongue of technology
lubricated with sweet lies
that children and addicts believe—
children and addicts like me.
lured in by the flashing,
twirling fly that technology has cast
from its unworldly position on the banks
of our river, our water,
and tempting each mouth and mind with
nourishment and knowledge;
never again will we be
—born of Nature—
for we have already supplicated
and bitten that ironically demonic bait,
cast off the spirituality of breathing this water,
of gladly, hungrily choking down this air,
and landed in the fiberoptic net of
eight and eighty-handed technology.
By Connor Childers
I see the monuments of man
Sprouting out of dark
Fissures of earth, interrupting the horizon,
Tally marks of ego scarring the desert
As if godliness is a man’s spatial distance from the ground.
We construct towers of Babel.
Consider the mesas of the world,
The clawed and hewn structures,
The wind-chiseled towers
Where beetles burrow their dusty apartments
And birds perch like stoic gargoyles
The mesas never sway in the wind,
they never buckle in the heat,
flood waters never fill their
bottom floors, leaving furniture
to waltz in the foyer.
Demon Possession at a Cocktail Party
By Shannon Cuthrell
The villa’s halls lit the ravenous night,
demanding respect, nothing short of Utopian glamour.
Harvey stood aside corner curtains, blending in and out.
He peered out the window as I peered at him.
Fool’s gold smiles spread like cancer around a room
flooded with silver lined cocktails and Christmas tinsel.
Suddenly, seething fire arose from Harvey’s corner.
Flames formed circles within his eyes.
His limbs flailed at the crowd, like an Old Testament stoning.
He clung to the hems of blood colored dresses.
Winged curses escaped his opened mouth.
The local doctor carried him off to the asylum.
The crowd murmured judging remarks,
ignoring the monsters lurking within their own lungs.