issue 9: viscera


- b.d. (bio)

I enter the room.
I notice you lying in bed,
clothes scattered on that wooden floor.
You seize me with those soft hands,
greeting me with a single kiss
releasing the desire from my green eyes

and surrendering to the blue in your eyes.
I dim the lights in the room,
overwhelmed with the anticipation of our next kiss.
My mind races as I walk closer to the bed
watching the way you whirl your hands
exciting even the walls and the floor.

We made love once on that floor,
back when the fire burned brighter in your eyes,
when you held my heart in your hands,
when I didn’t feel like I was alone in the room,
when I didn’t worry if you were coming back to bed,
when I always felt the spark of your kiss.

You persuade me with that next kiss.
My mind pirouettes and falls to the floor
yet acquiesces to the call of your bed.
Oh, those lustrous eyes
command all doubt to escape the room.
The sweat consumes my hands.

I slide into bed with the help of your hands,
fireworks exploding with each kiss,
quiet to most but quivering all in the room.
The red covers quickly sink to the floor
and as each inhalation reignites the light in your eyes,
I loosen my grip and you slip out of bed.

You rise like a monster from under the bed
and drop a knife you held in your hands.
The look of love turns to disgust in your eyes
you plant your final kiss.
There’s a warm pool on the floor
Love is blind and deaf in the room

where you reaped that primal kiss.
I lie on that wooden floor,
watching you strut out of the room.

Tragedy in Real-Time

- t.n. (bio)

Kiss me like a car crash

With all the wistful wreckage

And twisted hopes in tow

Envelop me in your eternity

Make nothing else matter anymore


Ravage me with the radiance

Of your overworked engine roaring

While your tires are desperately searching

For the traction that was lost long ago


Kiss me just like an ice patch.

I never want to see you coming.

In Reverse

- t.n. (bio)

Funny how a murder

Looks a lot like a miracle

In Reverse


Blood flows backwards

Wounds seal shut

Skin unopens


Lungs beckon breath

Consciousness clicks on

Looks a lot like a birth


Guns pull bullets out of bodies

Daggers mend severed arteries

Artillery blasts buildings

Back into existence

Bringing bodies

And families

Back together


- a.b. (bio)


3 a.m.
My mind is addled by a small pink pill leading past insomnia.
House music blares, unobtrusively
thrumming through blue headphones.
In the darkness I know you beckon.
Sanguine hair a lighthouse,
ivory walls bursting with warmth.
Yet, shipless on a raft in squally dark waters
your promise of shore seems an afterimage.
Halfway through this paradox I grew wings.
Leaping from the barge, gliding through purpling skies with gold dappled
feathers. The glue of ambition melts, as
yellow starlight strips away illusions of repose.
Yet, descending, the auroral spectacle still shimmers resplendent.

Fishing Rod

- a.b. (bio)

Cliff’s edge,
calloused toes cling to the rough earth
as though talons gripping prey.
I teeter on point,
The howling air billowing through
coiled hair.
Now aware there runs a spooled
black thread pulling me back.
Glued to tensed shoulder blades
which stay down.
We’ve expired.
A billion microorganisms now furrily
coat this symbiosis that seems to want to
sink despite my wanting it to float.
The weight is tipping me over despite
the onyx colored umbilical cord jutting from my spine.
I’d like to clip it, but safety whispers in my ear.
A green wingèd siren who’d revel in me plunging through the air
to splatter on the rocks below.

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- anon

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love and water

- anon

end of issue 9. go back to issues page.

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