the newspaper boy once told melove is loud. scream three times each day, and someone will at least feed you: sugar-snap peas thrown, showeringlike hail, macadamia nutsscattered like words, even safflower seeds sprinkling the nest of their bowl. after i peckthrough the glistening barswith my beak, the pearly queenhops over, bare feet tapping the linoleum
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To think there is such a thingas a good dayis to neglect the sun’s eternal indifferenceto the clouds and fogthat bottle it up invisibleand block its raysfrom reaching our foreheads. What kindof
(Where neither photography nor sketching were allowed) I. The freighted thud of
Up yonder, the sky yawns openwide in a downpour. I suck greedy
Allie Hoback is a poet from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Southwest Virginia. She earned her MFA in creative writing from Syracuse University. Her work has appeared in New
To Sleep The pink sun has fledto its bedchamber, leaving my hands darkened—wrapping‘round the sleeping beast his prayers, shadows and starshinehis hooves, bent toward the bloody moon begging for forgivenessas my fingers
dollar store sonnet i’m a five-below tree frog bitch so i can’t tellthe difference between the tree, the general, family$1. usually there’s a section where thingsare 8 times $1, so after i
Apocalyptic Date Idea #1 What if we kissed for the first time and I tried to stop it—sprinting up the street, scraggly-bearded, soot-skinned, tearsacross my face, minutes until the portal to my
Daily promise of blankness Scraping against whiteness Not loneliness but loneliness The house is not the room is not the bed is not the moment is not Cold nestling in after My
from ambient poems hi this is my algorithmic expression my me slowly becoming an NPC an encrypted moth a placeless i in an ambient logic that wants forgetting yet persits like a
against the shed, my bike leans, rusting. i pick off my legs a handful of sand spurs. i save them in a jar. i save everything that cuts me, from paper to
When the Editor Asks if the Suicidal Ideation is a Persona in his rejection email I appreciate it honestlyI do but I wish he was right that that endless tunnel was just
it’s not the child
One empties and fills; the other trickles. Both keep me afloat.
