Poetry

Written By: Arden Falker Sleepwalking toward an old oak door in slippers I forgot that I put on.

Written By: Arden Falker Canvas wrapped in a vortex of arms. Ripping wounds and clawing skin I bite the bit to feel a signal.

Written By: Allison Noonan I. Autolysis Nothing wakes you up at eight in the morning like the smell of death.

Written By: Spencer Keene I was weaned, at the ripe age of three,  off of formula and onto offal,  blood-drenched giblets of gizzard, liver, and disemboweled windpipe.

Written By: John Grey Damn barking dogs to hell. Infect infuriating neighbor with a plethora of nose warts. Show some whiners what is really out there to complain about. Give way to my inner primitive man.

Written By: John Grey It’s merely a cerebral cortex connected by synapses to thousands of neurons.