issue 8: mad mellow

Tres de Mayo

- j.r.

So willing to wait so long
Rarely captivated, never misguided
Mad man, mad man, mad man!
To ignore each day's breathing beauties

There is no life
There is no time
There is only soul
There is only needy curiosity

The equivalent of an immature anticipation
The equivalent of anxious planning
Complecency at its best
Utter nonsense termed Philosophy

Push here, or push north,
But for fucks sake, push somewhere
The other option is barren!
The beauty in patience is not eternal

Flamethrower Mind

- j.r.

When the shivers begin
One is full of thought and insight
One experiences desolation and loneliness,
Desolation and loneliness of the most severe degree

When the shivers begin
One recognizes the time,
One rushes to the money,
One will stop at nothing

When the shivers begin
Bird songs are more pure than silk water
Friendship is missed more than dead love
There is a gripping yearning for satisfaction in arbitrary emotion

When the shivers begin
The mind opens, sways, and absorbs
Hunger sets in
Time extends and extends and extends

He Drives Fast Cars Listening to Slow Jams

- b.d.

He provides therapy for misplaced souls
wandering those somber city streets.
His snow white whiskers dance to the song.
His chocolate hands wipe the sweat off his brow
that had somehow escaped from his suede hat.
Each finger dances on the brass that breathes life
into those who need it most.
The smoke in this musty club turns blue,
filling every crevice it finds.
When they are done, the audience weeps,
for they envy the angels’ ignorance.
The music gets bluer but the souls get yellowier
as they waltz in the devil’s silhouette.


- t.n.

Paint yourself a life that you

Would want yourself to have

Use broad intentional strokes

With gentle criticisms and

Hurt-your-belly laughs

Paint your life so vivid

That pictures wouldn’t do it justice

You know the kind of moments

Where you’d have to be present

To fully understand the magic

Speak little, that your words

Have time to make an impact

Paint your life so wonderful

Make it the life that

Instagram pretends to have


- t.n.

We all got a jail cell, man

Mines about 5’9” 160

Smells like smoke cause

My cellmate likes to


It's got these pale speckled walls

And yellowin’ bars from all the nicotine

They ain't let us out in awhile

Been too long since I tasted the sky


I wonder if they forgot about us

Probably for the best if they did

This ain't how I thought life would go

But goddamn it went for sure


And I pissed it all away

Over some no good bullshit

Hanging with wrong folks

They plan to hang me

like they did my daddy


They ain't gon get the chance

Not if I have my two cents about it

Not that I have two cents, or ever will


I'll break out of here, goddamnit I swear.

Even if it kills me. Even if I have to live



It's been too long since I tasted the sky.

It's been too long.

The End is Nigh-ilistic

- t.n.

We live in an era of not being in love and not being together

A time  in which we love our things and we use each other


We live in an era of over-prescription and prescription overdoses

Where we can have anything we want with free two day shipping

But we all have anxiety and there’s an epidemic of depression


Broken people living broken lives

Bringing other folks down

To make themselves feel alive


We come from broken homes

With perfect pictures on the wall

Where hearts are broken whole

And nihilism rules all

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- anon

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angry when i think about you

- anon

end of issue 8. go back to issues page.

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