Dealing with Disorders

fingers

Anxiety Disorders
by JD DeHart

One has begun to strum
his fingertips like an instrument,
another meticulously plucks
her eyebrows when stressed,
and still another clucks his tongue
like a chicken.
We do not hear the slight rattle
of teeth grinding together
in the front row, but it is just another
strategy for soothing, for dealing
with the loud noises of life.

—–

JD DeHart is the author of The Truth About Snails, a chapbook. His blog is jddehart.blogspot.com. DeHart is also a staff writer for Verse Virtual.

The Line of Being

road line

Something Like Guilt
by Jared Carnie

I had to break
a couple of hearts
to learn
there’s a fine line
between being
bohemian
and being
a cunt.

When you see it
in the eyes
of others
you realise
desire
is a little like
envy
and a lot like
insanity.

Acceptance
is apathy
with a more convincing
smile

and

passion
– often a cause
but never
an alibi.

—–

Jared A. Carnie recently returned from the Outer Hebrides. In August he featured at the Inverness Book Festival. He can be found at prettyneet.wordpress.com.

The Incline of Life on The 6th Floor

apartment building

Tucking Your Shirt
by Cheryl Rice

You turn to the window, 6th floor,
unbuckle, tuck, buckle your belt for dinner.
You’d rather show all Newark your belly than me.
The statue in the park across, Civil War hero,
patina moustache, bronze uniform,
has seen it all here, more than we will
in these sanitized blocks the mayor has created
for the good of the poets.

The window invisible door, one-way scenery,
the 6th floor is the 20th for all I care.
I undress myself in front of it, jeans to soft gym shorts,
elastic ease I need, middle too wide for my jean’s
hard waistband, blue oceans of pant legs
flap cotton surrender in October gusts.

Swapping shirts out before me like a teammate,
I’m the one who begs, the one who knows
the answers, doesn’t like the questions.
I imagined dark acrobatic corners of a life
you are no longer inclined towards.
I dreaded this weekend, at last proud,
definite about the high road I’d choose,
disappointed I had no choice to make.

I wish I could take each moment as is,
lights of the city insisting on their own silhouette,
but I am too much in love today.
I look for a plot where flash fiction’s the mode.
The haiku of your belt buckled away from me
should stand on its own, declaration of standoff,
white flag of truce louder than words.

—–

Founder and host of the Sylvia Plath Bake-Off, Cheryl A. Rice has run her RANDOM WRITING workshops throughout the Hudson Valley. Rice has lived there for over 30 years, after growing up on Long Island. Her poetry blog, Flying Monkey Productions, is at http://flyingmonkeyprods.blogspot.com/.

Then & In Torn Skies

LIGHTNING BOLT

A repressed screech
by Sarah Edwards

I was aware when I was 11, but no one else saw the heavy palm, tightening the noose around my aging shawl. It was a withered maroon in color & I lived in a room.

I was a girl then & I pretended to run outside my body in every dream, every night.

I only realized the blood in my reflection when the claws of some artificial blindness unhooked my training bra, digging & hissing with an easy slurp. The uneven dusk at the corner of my eyes would immerse in a losing battle with a mouthful of limbs, laid bare by unfriendly crows.

Cupping my unbloomed crescent, as if I couldn’t taste the salt of my own nostrils.

I drowned & I spit inside my mouth, stitched with cloned threads before the 12th year could sprout in agony.

I was the wrong carved in ice & my fingers still burned.

Before the night’s end, the slight crack in the floor that shadowed gentle footsteps, never dared to wrap my two hands in the flesh of silk worms.

I would fall asleep & the lines from your favorite TV show filled the attic with accepted memories.

Human angels are stupid, a figment of nicotine laden scabs, despite that, I take a willing breath & I am still a girl. Then & in torn skies.

—————

Bio: Sarah Edwards is a writer and/or a poet. Her work is experimental and based on some truths and inner heart. Her tumblr: http://sarahscribbled.tumblr.com/

Life’s Desperate, Mumbling Patterns

Bus Escapes
by Zachary Scott Hamilton

Chow down on leaves, get
Lernaen hydra curling the hair.
Angel patterns, shoestring videos

Turned walls wallet full on magic money,
Expensive shoes, don’t listen
Magnets, attracting snarling

Tissue, revitalization, early symbolic
Month, wait, safe grey,
Turnover flowers, aquamarine, ruby, lit, cash triangle,
Rubix, patchwork, young girls clean walls,
                                              Scramble –

You’re sane, back in old old-

Mumbling national anthem
Goat flags like clouds

Hairy, yawning, nay, lipping,
Light up, water up, heart,
Grows plants, grows houses,
                         Ivy, vines desperate
Recent green unfolding down
The roof, virgin house, unique flag
Newfangled goats, unusual hair, latest clouds

Soda– I got is this
Mumbling national anthem –
These children are scrubbing corners
Of this room
Mumbling plants to life –

————————-

Zachary Scott Hamilton grew up in Oregon, and spent many years traveling, where he began a fascination for the composed word. On occasion he writes for HOUSEFIRE, and his booklet IDENTIFICACION (authored with Brandy Gump of The Miss Rockaway Armada) won an AxP award, and can be purchased at Powell’s Books, Last word Books, and Floating World.