By Justin Greger
only a self-medicator
we all need some help
when you smoke cigarettes on purpose
when you drown your conscience
when you get higher than your lowered expectations
Anything to press and hold down
the fast forward button of life
You can never rewind,
you know it
will end one day
your tape will be used up
you pull it out
Exposed to the light
of memories can be hell
but in reality the angels
are purifying you in fire
so that you can enter heaven
By Jerrell Williams
This world only sees people as certain colors,
But this concept has been keeping us from truly loving each other.
It’s been a never ending war color against color
God’s creation at war with itself, brother against brother
Blacks against whites….whites against blacks,
Back and forth we go in this cycle of attacks.
It doesn’t matter who wins this drawn out war,
But I guarantee both sides will leave with their hearts feeling sore.
In this world not all is good, and not all is fine,
I wish that this world would just become color blind.
The mask cracks
Painted mud and ash swirl together
Red wax that stains and seals
begins to melt
texts come undone
what was smooth is now wrinkled
no iron can fix
statues are pulled down
sacred stones are smashed
And there is no wonder
the angel of light can no longer masquerade
the preacher of peace and mutual trust
the determined enemy of both
for he who wishes to deceive will never fail in finding willing dupes
And there is no wonder
for the evils of the earth are caused by
that internal voice you hear
is not yours
the only enemy that ever existed
By Ami Regier
I can feel the energy coming from the land.
This is where I bought parts for the truck.
There’s where I went rock crawling with the truck.
I didn’t get far from Myrtle Beach before breaking down on the side of the road.
Pointy toe cowboy boots are cockroach kickers because they go for the corner wham. New Mexico style is more the square toe.
This is the loop that we took coming back into Gallup from Zuni.
That’s a 550. It’s like a ton and a half.
That was a Charger. You can tell by the taillights.
That’s a pretty Road King.
I drove my truck on top of that hill of caves and areas where squatters, homeless, partiers, trashburners were, where we went stargazing last night. Homeless may be living in the cliffdwellings now. See the stuffed teddy bear, a shoe.
Warning, the sign appears to say: proposing marriage in Canyon de Chelly may make you lightheaded.
By Claire Kohen
What more human an event than to weep?
A demonstration of the physiological and spiritual body as one.
Each taking turns determining the individual purpose of an outside stimulus.
Our conscious minds seem to believe in a symbiotic relationship between tears and despair, when, in fact, there is a tear for every occasion.
Sometimes one must weep when finding peace in the solitude of a sleepless night. Sometimes one must weep when experiencing the world and its need for chaos.
Sometimes a tear is present when there is no reason.
You don’t have to know why you cry, just know that it’s natural. Organic.
When you see someone cry, don’t mechanically comfort them or neglect to gaze upon their face. Don’t say in that syrupy-sweet but almost superior tone, “oh honey, everything will be alright,” and hand them a tissue. Look them in the eyes, through that precipitation of truth, and tell them that they are beautiful when they weep.
When you cry, don’t hide your tears in embarrassment or shame. Be faithful to your physiological and spiritual body and cry when it tells you to. Cry in the supermarket while picking an apple from the produce section. The people may look at you funny, but the vegetables will most likely join in your tears. Cry while walking in the woods alone. The rabbits probably won’t come up and give you a hug, but chances are the birds will add a melody to your performance of emotion. Cry anywhere. Anytime. Do not apologize. Own your tears, for they are the very essence of what makes you you. What makes you human. And that is beautiful.
By Marike Stucky
She looked at me as if to say, “Well duh, you little shit.”
I had asked this woman sitting on the curb, whose face was like a dried apricot—all orange and crinkly—if anyone was home at this time of day. Of course someone was home. This home was always occupied. The smoke drifting up from the woman’s cigarette seared my nostrils—I’m allergic to cigarette smoke—and drove me to action. I turned from the apricot woman and jogged up the steps leading to the house. Door. Handle. Open.
“Hello?” I asked into the dismal entryway of house number 314. There was a staircase filling the space to my right; a living room devoid of the living on my left. A few potted plants dotted the living room—they had long past died. There were some squashy arm chairs in there, all with horrible floral prints. I was standing in the foyer. I’d left footprints in the dust as I had traipsed in.
“Uh, Madge? You in here?”
By Gustavo Palacios
Your smile is radiant, your smile is an invite.
Your eyes are bold, your eyes are the entry.
Your voice is a sound…
When you sing, it is distinct.
When I hum, it is unique.
When they join, it is harmony…