The pills bite huge chunks out of me. I can't take just one; they come at me like piranhas, jaws open and frenzied. I'm down to the bone, I throw everything up. I.V. needles frequent me like annoying guests, keeping me hydrated.
My mind crawls like a fly on painted fruit, sucking at illusions and air. I'm tired of being scared. Someone told me to give my fears to Jesus, but I think he'd be bored of them, too.
by J.M. Brandt of Columbia
*Italicized words found in Decoy by Elaine Equi
Notes on Not Getting Better: Flies
boyfriend--
inbox.
blank.
refresh.
blank.
refresh.
sigh.
Facebook.
*single
by Belle DiMonté of St. Louis
Pulled Apart by Horses
I'd never visited a farm before. It smelled like shit and dirt. I found it depressing that the corn roamed freely in the wind while the horses were planted in the breezeless stables. I flung open the barn and led the horses by their leather ropes. The smell of freedom in the corn field overwhelmed them, and as they jaunted off into opposite directions, my body became nothing more than seeds planted in the earth.
by Nathaniel Tower of St. Louis
Andre's Atonement
Paroled, Andre Mann erected a carousel in the ghetto. Calliope music. Painted horses. Grinning children escaping reality. Andre’s atonement amid concrete, glass, graffiti, gangs and guns. The past rolls by in a gold trimmed low rider. Windows down. Shots fired. Four bullets in Andre. Single bullets in three children and a mom. Today there is a faded circus mural on a brick wall in front of drug dealers.
by Robert Boaz of St. Charles
He Found a Hollow Point Vampire Fang
The smell was what told us he wasn't coming back. James swore up and down he saw vampire bites on his neck but the rest of us, we knew damn good and well those weren't fangs. Eric kept talking about the exit wound and all I could talk about is what his parents would do when they realized this was all their fault.
by Ryan Sayles of Kansas City
Change Me (While He's on the Ground)
She said the violence would change me and it has in ways I didn't think it would. I read the end of the book before I even start it. I've lost patience with standing in line. I shake the hand of my new neighbor and think, "I would kick his knee and while he's on the ground..." I wash laundry every day, especially my underwear. I clean my windows. Before I hang up, I hesitate - almost telling my mom that I love her.
by J.M. Brandt of Columbia
Fortune
Al's grandpa, a gambler, held the dice for two hours. Suddenly rich, he married the woman on his left, the one who'd kissed his dice before each roll.
This was Al’s grandma. She gave birth to Al’s father, the only one from his platoon to return from Vietnam.
When Al won the lottery, he wasn’t surprised. The surprise came later, when he moved to a golf course, bought new clubs, and was promptly struck by lightning.
by Evan Schaeffer of St. Louis
Love Without Warning
I slip off the gloves, the surgical mask, and dark sunglasses. Unpeeling each blockade, I feel more human and disgusting. I can feel the fresh air crawl with centipede legs across my skin. I shudder. He kisses me - bacteria mouth. He touches me - microscopic terrors. He loves me - all these troubles. I get tangled in him. He plunges into me, without warning, into the hard coil of insecurity. Pulling me up for air.
by J.M. Brandt of Columbia
Cherry: The Painting
You call me "calm" or even the strange word "composed", which I've always felt was more suitable for the long neck of a violin, not tom-boy girls like me. I won't dare to call it "mask" because it's much less dramatic, even "facade" makes me squirm. It's a beautiful painting; the glossy face of a girl - unsmiling lips and dull eyes. Created by you, an unknown artist. I'll hang it in my bedroom, but I won't like it.
by J.M. Brandt of Columbia
