Trevor Tingle
We understand the Alien monster.
The terrific propagation of species,
a matter of no small personal interest,
an exoskeletal pleasure at hand.
A seed has been planted
deep inside this generation,
a parasitic consumption
of emotional nutrition.
You know how this story begins,
the double jawed glares
teeth snapping within teeth
appetite swelling within appetite,
something writhing inside you.
TREVOR TINGLE has tried and failed to sail around the world. He lives with his wife and son in New Orleans and has been published by or has work coming out in Natchez Poetry Contest, Jersey Devil Press, and Maple Leaf Rag 5. He was the Guest Editor for the January 2014 issue of Dead Flowers: A poetry rag.
(See What you Want; Want What you See)
Jerrod Schwarz
There is a basilisk in my left eye, rapping the
sclera like cat claws on a window pane.
Sometimes, I can see its shingled
bends when I turn on my bathroom light in
the morning, when it zigzags from my cones
to my rods.
When my second love (who smiled) left for
Houston and said that our arms were too
short, it hissed Greek proverbs, scrawled them
red in the snowy edges:
Δείτε τι θέλετε; Θέλετε να βλέπετε
It sleeps when I sleep, and I dream
its dreams, reveling in its visions
of Cyrene rebuilt, writhing against
ancient, swollen women buying silphium.
My father (who always smiled) often spoke of a
demon who coiled around his left ear canal, who sculpted
marble columns in his Eustachian tube and
pierced Greek symbols into his stirrup with
tipped fangs:
Δείτε τι θέλετε; Θέλετε να βλέπετε
Only once I asked it for a name, for
nomenclature. And when it sibilated
I am instinct, I laughed because
she used to smile and he never frowned,
and because I had worried over the wrong eye.
JERROD SCHWARZ is a student at the University of South Florida. He currently lives in Tampa, and he has forthcoming work in Squalorly Literary Journal.
Roselyn Perez
You have turned me to stone.
Mistaken me for an enemy
My throat is full
lips weighed down with the things I need to say
I stand in your garden and watch
A hero,
a coward, come on flying feet
cloaked in Death’s shadow.
He cannot see you,
only your reflection
I watch, wishing my voice could wake you,
my scream slams uselessly against my stone skull,
and, so he takes your head,
But your blood creates the red sea
You birth a slithering multitude
that spans across continents
Death has not rendered you powerless,
But a weapon of the gods.
I watch, remember, and stand as a monument to you.
ROSELYN PEREZ is the fifth of six children, all girls. She is 26 years old, resides in Southern California, and is studying creative writing and psychology at California State University Northridge. Her poems and short stories have been featured in Eclipse Literary Journal, Think Journal, writer’s type.com, and Magnets and ladders.
