Poetry

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.

Written By: John Grey Flashlight under chin, his face is a ghost  and at such a young age.

Written By: Pam Avoledo She has an edge inside her skeleton poking out from her ribs. It appeared after she coughed and coughed for months.