Issue one// Lena Drake

we have jagged edges left

you. you. I
explanation. this explanation. is not it is not a good explanation.
not explanation. really it hopes
if good good this hope this explanation. is it if
sure i'm enough
explanation. this
not More
girl, loved a girl, More you but
and You I you, girl, a point. fifteen. and that's--
I was, see, fifteen.
loved I, you You my but You story. You were fifteen. this I
You see,
a this story.
and that's originally my "I" is the my this
before I nausea, petite was it before dizzy, before then. kissed then.
I would nausea, would you
was
you I. I.
cuts. cuts. I-- language, nausea-- saw But feel cuts.
soft. lips lips Your
Your lips were Your
was and stomach red. was and
stomach stomach was stomach red stomach

© Lena Drake 2010

Issue one// Harry Brooks

© Harry Brooks 2010

Issue one// Seb Wheeler

HEAD VI

The pope's head has exploded.

Purple
Black
Light gold

(You are plunged into darkness)
Shop soiled mannequins enter stage left,
Appear beneath a single spotlight
And dance covered in fake finery on a perfect half moon.
They start to sweat yellow grey pearls,
Melt collapse into a pool
On cracked wooden beams.

(Would you like to dance?)
I’d rather hang
From the rafters throwing confetti.
One hundred reflections after every rotation,
Torn cut ripped glimmering gloss.
They are there again,
Until the dark wears off,
Swapping cheap plastic jewellery
Playing Chinese whispers in the shadows
Picking constellations from the mess on the floor.

Crimson
Bright white
Pale pink

They put dynamite behind his ears.

© Seb Wheeler 2010

Issue one// Clare Jones

P/C

You are my present continuous tense, temporal

unsure if this is it at all.

I dread the third conditional because the past

is inside it, already pooling into mind.

And if you look and look to find

the tightened mouth on two

three and trois are still aligned,

but not blue and bleu and you.

I don’t hear Spanish but I know

a few words

the ones I needed.

Nous sommes nu together, a part of my heart

but when he is there we say ils.

He watches the doll dress

sees mine to eye to eye

in the back, a pocket mirror

lipstick smudge on thigh.

The leopard to the lamb on land

to lie down with the asp

his young his waters full his hand

and sounds of gentled glass.

Give me a neutraled opened key

and words from yours by you to me.

© Clare Jones 2010

Issue one// Kayleigh Dray

House of Cards

To live in card houses
y’all gotta get used to the strong taste
of pepper
and powder
and
…and that strange smell ya get
when ya squeeze a big amber drop
o’pine dew ‘tween your fingers
‘til it bleeds a sunset over the prints.
All sticky and lookin’
like a sigh…
It / reeks of / Why.
Oh, the sound? That’s the bees,
livin’ and workin’
sometimes dyin’ for the honey
pot on the breakfast bar
- all made of clubs and spades.
They ain’t got nowhere else to go,
So…
when they comes knockin’ for sugar,
don’t give ‘em the
brush off with
old sweet’n’lows.
Y’all can sit and stare at these -
these paper walls,
all bendin’ with the elements,
some yellered with years
of fondlin’ in backhand poker
games and such.
Ya stare and see hearts.
See clubs.
See the dull dots of marks ‘gainst
the shine of the diamonds
as they glint-shine off the rich folks‘
rings and earrings and
and tie-pins!

\ \ But / /
all the faces and the aces
are turned out and away
and they sure as hell don’t…
they sure as hell don’t look
at You
as You’re tryin’ make out

ya don’t see them.
[Make out yew don’t give a damn.
It’d be a pretty lie, if ya could
make it stick]

To let live in card houses
y’all gotta stop sittin’ by
while that strong taste of
pepper
and powder
and rags soaked in

gasoline,

lit by shakin’ gloved hands
from a world without bees,
comes in at ya.
All that… all that not-knowin’ folks
and not-knowin’ when to keep
that big bazoo shut and trapped
and Kept Quiet.
“Hell boy, you’s just a Spade,
so you ain’t got no right to go
makin’ eyes at your new
sweet-Heart.”
They’ll soon learn.
Leads to bell-fights.
Or silence.
Or unwanted
flickerin’ lights.
And when you is livin’ in a house of cards,
You don’t need no extra buzzin’.
Those card walls are steady held,
no swayin’,
no need to be prayin’ for God
to suck back in that wicked breeze.
But The Smoke seeps through
and it calms.
It calms them,
It – the smoke- it calms the bees and
the bees are calmed by the smoke and…
And they’re all crawlin’, not flyin’,
Big mass of black and yeller.
They’re all crawlin’ as they – as they start dyin’,
Big Mess of black and yeller bodies,
heaped in smoke and ash and flames.
It reeks of \\Why ///
The white painted faces are starin’ outwards
And lookin’ away
Lookin’ away from all that death…
the death of
All those poor, poor blackened

bodies and…

It
Reeks
Of
…

© Kayleigh Dray 2010