By John Ganshaw Arms outstretched with palms bent, fingers pointed to hell. Wrists arched to the heavens above. Veins erupt, and the holy being of my most eternal ground sprays to reach the angels above. Oh, crimson nectar I’ve held so dear, show me the way to gain my fate. Faucet of life has no shut-off valve. Pain of past loves taken away, empty of the hurt that boiled beneath my sheath. Dreams of tomorrow are hidden from me, behind a wall of misery. Hope was gone, and lov

By Donna Dallas Did you hold the swan?? Only to offer its long tender neck with glowing pulse to the bull with steel hooves and blood cinder eyes Does the swan ever truly know?? It knows it is honey and soft down opens like Mother Earth succulent and divine Why does the bull gorge upon the swan? As man doeth and so it is written in the scrolls across time sunk in the Dead Sea how the beauty of things is sucked upon and pulled apart for no real reason and the simple reason tha

By Hannah Watkins I see myself in their grain Moulded into existence Not by the hands of humans They have been released from their steely confines And they remain upright They move in circles Over the soft bodies of worms Transmuting the decaying flesh, of sour grapes And ungodly creatures Into rich soil at the feet of mountains Free to weave the liminal spaces between No mortar holds my body bound Stiff, pious men have no place inside me And their words cannot touch me I am