Kayla Kerns
Perhaps I’m the poison
On your tongue crawling down your throat
Headfirst, body contorting
Make it fit! Make it fit!
Gouging your insides
A parasite
Spewing eggs and seed
Larva tickling the back of your throat
I sip your stomach acid
Fine wine! Fine wine!
The noxious gas in your veins
Curdling your blood
Beating through your heart
Ripping the chambers to shreds
Stewing within your bones
Let it simmer! Let it simmer!
KAYLA KERNS loves staying home to read books and drink tea.
Hey, there. After some unavoidable delays, we’re back! This issue is full of bodies. Human bodies, animal bodies, scary bodies, dead bodies, vanishing bodies, body parts. Slip between the tent flaps and behold these dazzling wonders—you will find some body to love. Or several, in the case of our cover art, which is a good reminder that, as we once read on a bumper sticker, “it’s always spooky season if you’re weird.”
Nicholas Alti
Twinkle toes don’t taste good this year,
too much crunch. Pulp. Plus, no rot yet.
My hunch: fiddlesticks in our micro-plastic.
This can go one of two ways: tongue or cheek.
You want to go blow for blow? What kind
of sexy threat is that? Don’t hurt me! Harm me.
I’ve got a bone to rip from you. Hit you with.
So many wells left to poison, cuts to kiss bitter.
This was probably inevitable. A tough case: sweet,
pitch black plasma, yes, but only light grey plague.
Contamination is a measure of chance. Hypnosis.
We can go delicate. We can make a moment.
I thought you wanted to get smothered
in honey, not insect repellent. Sorry, tombstone.
Now, your vision should be blurring. Nauseous?
The horsemen storm behind you, bearing lances.
I just wanted to befriend. You look yum.
Don’t go—I just want to sear you briefly.
From rural Michigan, NICHOLAS ALTI is a bartender in Atlanta who holds an MFA from the University of Alabama. He is interested in absurdity, silliness, and surrealism. His poetry is in Burial Books Blog, 7th-Circle Pyrite, Star*Line, Horror Sleaze Trash, and his website is 3bluntzatonce.com.