Poems of the Week
By Michael Dutton
Once when I was
Enamoured by the
windy fabrics of my
I chased a star
Begging it all along the
And when finally I ran
out of breath
I felt far too genuine to
By Jazmin Merhmann
We are the spaces between
All the things that we pretend to be
The slits that the light shines through
Are cranked wide by our instances of truth
By Emilee Guevera
fall in montreal
makes me cry.
crisp clear air and grey skies
softened rays of sun, grazing my thighs
I sit in a car with a stranger,
listening to classical music and watching cemeteries flash by
tracing the cree word for water on the wet window,
soft sounds, soft light, soft understanding
the fog slowly lift, revealing an unbelievable array of colour
red orange yellow,
leaves resting in defeated piles
not bright, but burnt
like the ashes they tap to the ground
in a city of smokers
this isn’t New York or London
this is a city where dreamers are collected
nestled in old houses with winding stairs
making love and music
hiding from the ones that say,
“there’s no time to waste”
saving up for the dream that might never come…
fall in montreal,
makes me cry.
By Jazmin Mehrmann
Will I be left
To my chapped
And soundless lips
And to cradle myself
The Devil chord’s resonance
When I finally drop
On minor keys
By Michael DuttonHe turned to me and wrote hey Around, a girl gets up saturnine From 9 to 9 I voice my opinion And say hi
By Michael DuttonPink mist sun A creasant Of clouds and leaves A road made of Kashmir But wait There’s a voice screaming
By Vernon LeCraw
DRINK AND DRIVE!
Through the fence surrounding love’s courtship
Of rejection. Bucket seats take reservations.
Thin buckle, thick buckle…
Eject them all! To evade
A dance in vain behind
A suit of armor. Lovely,
Won’t you gut me?
I fillet a corpse of glamour.
My heart swims in open-wishing water,
Growing hunger for my abductor
To shed their sun-dollars, and with my time,
Own the night.
Quickly confidence is lost, like a face in the dark.
Sex is a switch and I can’t get it on.
I’ve been shaving a hole for the next one though,
An ideal fit is what I fantasize about,
Until I realize the razor’s burn
And then when there is no one else,
I will resort to petting myself.
Cause life has a lot to do with making compromises,
And making sure the oven is off.
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