Stuck (collaborative poem)

Feeling your disbelief suspend itself in the air,
twirling around the ringlets of your hair
like the ballerina that twirls in her music box
I can hear the ticking of your internal clock.

The audible reminders that you are here,
tick tock tick tock another god damn tear.
The leaks in your eyes will never cease
overflowing a bathroom with every release.

Hoping for more beyond the wall of your inability,
longing for any pathetic sign of stability.
Frozen in the midst of your own indecision,
every possible route appears to be a collision.

The texture of your wasted words tickles your tongue
there’s nothing but darkness inside of your lungs.
A feeling you’ve been trying to avoid sticks to your throat
and you can’t seem to fit it into a single note.

Thoughts spinning through in a carousel of what is now faded
all your precious memories have become outdated.
Traversing along the exhales released with your laments
your mouth only forms the word  “love” in past tense.

Shaking life into your tired limbs has become an arduous task
who are you? who have you become? i’m too afraid to ask.
Questions that would pierce through the veil of your secrets,
stumping you and leaving you wondering and sleepless.

~ @aIgedonic and @bellan0va collab



my soul is released
as a fleet of scarabs
pouring out of
empty sockets
and shrivelling

in the great hall of
my heart cannot withstand
the feather of

a swarm of locusts
ushers me over
a faithless desert
to a river
that I must cross

the river of illusion
mirrors all earthly
restless ghouls
reach for me
pressing against the
impenetrable surface

which sustains all life
carries me in death
the river delivers me
to the burning fields
where chaos

the bile of my sins
is poured down my throat
I drink for eternity
there is no

wraiths torment
and molest
we revel in our filth
a scorching madness
of arousal and disgust

aeons pass
before stillness falls
a breeze collects me
I slumber as seed
in a celestial womb
of dreamless, timeless

until a resonance
evokes me
I cannot resist
and I plummet
cast once more in

~ @Magenta_Nero


The stars are the asterisks
footnoting the details of our eyes.

As we gaze up at the speckled velvet backdrop
we feel our pupils ascend from their cages of irises
to meet the mysterious glowing spheres
and emulate their illumination.

If we shut our eyes
before they jumped into the darkness above,
would we feel the earth below our feet tremble in its determined rebellion?
Does the earth encourage the merging
of pupils and of stars?

The sky is a series of tightropes
for comets and stars vibrantly ringing with their newfound additions
to walk freely across.

Eyeless we stand on the ground
under the watchful ocular orbs above,
reimagining the sensation of our restless pupils
safely encompassed by our newly-lonely colored rings.

~ Michelle (@bellan0va)

Unknown Organ Sound

Leaning low over the table
eyes still
one hand on another and then to the glass
late afternoon breeze in the dark
dust held in a single beam of light
silence drips in from the street
cold beer in the throat
voices rise and fall from somewhere
tiled floor
laid by someone, many years before
lines crossed and repeated
towards the door
Into the street, bright day turns black, then pastel
fading to a spring hue
downhill, towards the sea, blue heart trail
electric static shatters over pale horizon
adventure tingles to bone and spilled heat ..warmed chest
scenes roll through glass, water’s edge —
It won’t be long.. rhythm found in an unknown organ sound
waves beat, I can bare, pictures and the song
ancient tribes around the fire
moon and stars, their audience
drunk on infinity.. disjointed, yet somehow
not alone.
~ Gary (@nightly_moth)

Smoke (Signs)

35% post-consumer death.
God whittles souls and bones alike and the broken ones take their
place in the desert.
Climate-controlled cultures.
Tea-black, coffee-black, bone-black, is it ever any portion of the
spectrum contained?
Water lilies breaking steps.
Secure the old reflections of bent color wheels and broken telescopes
set on dead suns.
Slip on something simpler.
Forget about your white count, the chances of falling. The winter
keeps no record of
The gods inside your hands.

~ Ryan (@cruxpunk)


At forty-seven,
I expected her to be

But there are tiny
Things in the body
Possessed of a far
Greater wisdom

And this night is my new meridian
Where seas pound each other
To a state of equipoise

My bath-wet skin
In the hallway
A phone clenched in
Something resembling
My hand

~ Brendan (@BrendanBonsack)

without a trace

The planets are speaking, what do you think it is they are saying? The gap of deafening silence in between planets whispers an archaic secret about the many apocalypses that have passed and reminds us of the approaching apocalypse before us.

Everything suddenly comes to an end. The absence of pressure forces the moth of timelessness into a dazed paralysis, causing time to suddenly become nonexistent. Light exits quickly, as if late for a meeting. The air becomes even thinner and lighter, as if it hadn’t eaten in weeks. The only sound that can be perceived is the deafening, persistent roar caused by the sudden explosive desolation of what used to be planet Earth.

In this realm, nothing exists. To anyone it would seem like nothing has ever existed here. The explosion left not even a burn or a scar or a tear in the fabric of space. Everything was simply demolished, without a trace.

— beta (@chronicgrey)

instructions Hand book manual 5 x 7

try to figure out Leaves and their
rational decade the café regret for
many young shots spilled on
alcohol side walk , ruined in the
burnt down by insurance savvy bro
archetypal schematic drawers .
articles of descent lament in
rumination and culminate their
curling rumors about hidden colors
and why you should donate today .

insofar as we have Derailed a dossier
for blue on white on green design
seemed through the sacraments to a
simple song , skeletal and growling
with feigned search to clean the
importance from an upturned cold
wealth of knowledge burned in yor
spandrel library lineage : buy one
get one free mistakes only for a
limited tidal disparate , gravity
holds a no burned harbinger against
the thought challenges to require …

vast the good is bleeding on heron ,
powerful and to disturb the calm is
transgress sophomore until think has
scars and charcoal fingerprints fire
dust closet mothball tea sinking in
the mammal experiment . all for
now , we seem sight through
measurements of imperfection hate
to t. yo. i to. yo. s. sould in the sixth
week ,
of an unbenign respite Despite forum
head requital . thoroughly
enjoy the free touching kitchen class
to the caress the body needs
nourished repeatedly each meal a
conveyor belt of re-poisoning the blood
for after hours behavior with the ripple
walking chemicals of adornment

~ Kyle (@kylhayd)


Quiet terror in the streets
Figures shuffle with incomprehensible
Haste, heads down
Serpentine tracks in the snow
Hum of sweat and desperate manners
The lines are down
There is nothing here 

Johan told me once
Of the tendrils of smoke
We call lives
And how the wind
Carries us all
Ash piles and abandoned homes
Electronic trash and ash piles and wind

Howls from unshaven hotels
The frightened dogs
This pollution debt this shattered glass trance
This world of cars this skyscraper apocalypse
There are nodes in the network
But all we see is fire in the sky
And the ashes.

~ben (@quimfontt)

a storm of thoughts

I pull my hood over my empty eyes as my slow pace evolves into a brisk sprint. How do you keep a storm a secret? I count the seconds between the thunder and the lightning and I realize that this was a storm with a heartbeat, with no serene centre. The speed at which the dark, opaque clouds appear astonishes me. The pounding rain comes down on me like bullets piercing through my clothes and leaving a wet stain I can feel permeate through my cold skin. The immediate thunder is deafening and frightening enough to make me want to run to my mother’s lap, where I once felt safe and secure. The sound brings me back to my childhood when slamming doors and screaming created their own thunderstorms inside my home. Thunderstorms always scared me because I knew they were uncontrollable like the emotions that brewed inside of me at swift speeds without my command.

Humans have had a complex relationship with nature since the dawn of conscious thought. The weather had and continues to maintain a direct correlation with our emotions. There is something about sunny days that fills our hearts with contented illumination and the comfort of a glass of ice-cold Pepsi. There is an undeniable agreement that violent rainstorms create an aura of disillusionment around the masses of humanity that walk through the world they feel they know so well despite it being ceaselessly enigmatic. Earthquakes shake the world into altered forms of its previously static state as they rattle the bones and jostle the hearts of those who walk along its surface.

Ever since I could remember my mother told me not to play outside during thunderstorms, never forgetting to remind me how dangerous and messy they were. This assertion puzzled my adolescent mind, didn’t humans possess the same characteristics? I never understood the harm in a little mud on my pants and shoes. I spent a majority of my childhood within four-walled encasements, watching storms inside from a window and racing the raindrops on their clear panels. I grew up afraid of nature because of I thought they brought the worst onto humans as the trusted weathermen and news anchors told me they did; earthquakes and tsunamis destroying what was once securely cemented to the earth.

I always thought humans feared what they couldn’t understand and control. I soon also understood we have a need for the feeling of superiority, we don’t like feeling small and vulnerable even though we are well aware of our inability to alter what exists in realms beyond us. In this modern life we are so accustomed to, our lack of interaction with nature makes us forget that we are part of nature as well. I grew up afraid of nature because I thought it could bring the worst onto humans as the trusted weathermen and news anchors told me they did; earthquakes and tsunamis seem to destroy what was once securely cemented to the earth with such ease.

Aligning myself back to the present moment and momentarily forgetting the memories that seem to never fade, I realize I am finally on my street and my clothes and hair are soaked with water. I take a deep breath and inhale the earthy smell of rain and move along. There are water puddles in my boots that make squishy noises with each step I take, like audible reminders of the results of such relentless pouring. Trying not to step on the worms that are scattered all over the sidewalk, I end up in my driveway. I turn my head to see a rainbow and I can’t help but allow a subtle smile to spread across my stiffened face. I hear my mother call to me to come inside and I know intuitively that she will inevitably look at my wet clothing in disgust when I do finally walk through the door of our home. I was inside of my childhood, she would never understand that.

~ Brittany (@electrawaves) and Michelle (@bellan0va) collab