issue 20: aftermath

Retirement. (haiku)

- n.b. (bio)

Tired hands fumble
with the clasp of an old bra—
elm trees groan at night.


- c.s. (bio)

With one sip of tea
I can just dream
My world is at peace
and I am just me

Let Me In So I Can See

- a.k. (bio)

Her emotions drowned away by the end of the bottle
The blaring of the music is her acoustic coddle
Why is she running?
Where is she running to?
Aren’t I enough for you?

For you to forget the pain
That you numb away
When your jaw is done for the day

I love you, Mom
Can you hear that?
What can I do to bring you back?
Who are those inner demons?
Were you beaten, stopped from dreamin’, some other reason?

Let me in so I can see
What is the pain you wish to free
From which you run so desperately
So I can be there for you and you for me
So you no longer hurt me
And we can finally BOTH be free

I only ever write about sex and hangovers

- adg.w (bio)

Comedown music lifts my skin flakes

and allows them to float with the updraft

to standing neck height,


where they dissipate.


Infinity is the gap between the skirting and carpet,

the longer I stare and twitch,

the tighter fix it has on our reality


those chair legs are big on your belly,

that waste paper basket is screaming to be burnt,

but I can't get up


under this tent of blue,

in this pre-noon light that's denying the ceiling

it's capacity for being opaque


stripped of it's frequency, it urges me to stop calling

and if it would pick up,

the dial tone birds would stop talking


about sex


and sweat,

and the viscosity of bodily fluids

and how they taste in the car park


whether or not the suspension knows

and if he cares,

he cares not to stand in the way.

When You Think Of Me

- anon

When you think of me
Do you think of silly laughs
And lazy days under sheets.

Or do you think of how I was your sanctuary to
hide from the world
When it got too much.

Or do you think of wasted years
Of time spent chasing a dead end
Punctuated by vicious rows.

Maybe when you think of me
All you feel is pity, perhaps regret.

Or maybe, worst of all, you do not think of me at all.


Mini Landscape 9

- anon


end of issue 20. go back to issues page.

Mini Landscape 10

- anon

the poetry juicebox
an international poetry & art publication
the poetry juicebox