Temenos by Audra Colino


Call of the Wild by Jennifer Henriksen | Shop | Website | Facebook | Twitter

Temenos

I talked to the street lights like they were God.
You can pour whiskey in this wound
at every sunset, and I’d still find a way to call it holy.
These pink bar signs heal, baby. They do.
I could kiss ‘em right up and breathe
the same air until my lips burn
and then my throat, then
blue bokeh dopamine. Tell me,
where does kneeling begin after the long drip
of falling?



Audra Colino

Audra Colino is the author of Cradle Bones with Lulu Press. A writer and actor from upstate New York, she enjoys playing guitar and daydreaming into the night.



Follow the Tracks #35 : Weekly Song Picks




On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Tiny Cities Made Of Ashes” – Modest Mouse



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Snake Song” – Isobel Campbell & Mark Lanegan



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Alright” – Keaton Henson



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Be Free” – King Dude & Chelsea Wolfe



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Sorry” – Beyoncé
(featuring poetry by Warsan Shire)


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   or   


Founding Editor


Amanda Oaks is the founding editor of Words Dance Publishing, an independent press, literary blog + biweekly online poetry journal. Her works have appeared in numerous online & print publications, including decomP, Stirring, Glamour & Elle. She is the author of four poetry collections: Hurricane Mouth (NightBallet Press, 2014), her co-authored split book, I Eat Crow (Words Dance, 2014) & her series of free digital music-inspired chapbooks.


Bad Omens by Lakshmi Mitra


Metamorphosis by Jennifer Henriksen | Shop | Website | Facebook | Twitter

Bad Omens

friday evening, an avenue streaked with cars
a cold crow with her head
pointing north, her feathers
inert.

my brother trades in insignificancies.

he strings wishbones, milky shells.
gathers crow’s blood
for the gods to drink.

we carry debt-burdens of bad omens
like we carry our spines;
unflinching. regret is not always
acrid, but marmalade-sweet.

when i think of our mother’s ashes
i think of sticky jam, and
sometimes of the bodies we abandon
only to find that skin always
feels the same (alive, alive)
and at night, new ghosts sing
their own elegies.

sometimes when i look
in the mirror – it frightens me.
how much
i look like myself.



Lakshmi Mitra

Lakshmi Mitra is a 19 year old college student living in Kolkata who occasionally frustrates herself into a bout of writing. When not doing so, she can be found reading, studying, craving sleep, and complaining. She is mostly polite, a lousy conversationalist, and doesn’t like sudden movements. Therefore, it comes as a great surprise to her that her cats still don’t like her. She blogs at anotherwinterheart.tumblr.com.



Like Religion by Natalie Wee


Reprieve by Jennifer Henriksen | Shop | Website | Facebook | Twitter

Like Religion

          In this dream we
are five years old again.
                            Bodies
          small enough to
be swallowed
          by furniture. Hide
and seek where               I
          find more than
your phantom
          limbs climbing out
of my ribcage.

          In this dream we
invent each other.
          Delicate shells
of flesh & wonder
          to split open
if our voices
          fly true.
The pulse as
          magnetic waves
compassing me
          back to your
moon eyes.

          In this dream I
stop looking.
          You did not leave.
Not this house
          that is not a house
but a mausoleum
          of forgiveness.
No wine here, we
          inherit blood
by the tongue.
          In this dream I
wait. The devout
          don’t leave church
even when god
          stops talking back.



Natalie Wee

Natalie Wee is a writer and poet whose work deals with the intersectionality of experiences, primarily that of queer women of colour. She is currently an Associate Fiction Editor at Broken Pencil Magazine, as well as a Cultural Studies & Critical Theory MA Candidate at McMaster University. Her book, OUR BODIES & OTHER FINE MACHINES, will be published by Words Dance publishing this year. You may find more works and a complete list of her publications at http://wondersmith.co.vu/.



I’d Be Lying by Rachel Nix


Print by Bright Room Studio on Etsy

I’d Be Lying

if I said I wasn’t nervous. My sister, concerned:

I’m afraid Christians may hurt my son.
I’ve been up all night trying to decide if we should go
.


When I say Christian, I don’t mean Christian; I mean
those who say amen when it isn’t right.

Is it more important to be seen, to show ourselves in the light – 

where darkness protrudes to swallow good? Should we cower,

allow those who holler hatred to mark us apathetic?

All this worry, all this fear, all to decide: is it safe to hold a candle
in the park to mourn people we know in a way only our empathy allows?


The argument: was it a Muslim or should we blame the gun?

I know that people are afraid – not so much of what they do not understand,
but that which they cannot control.



There are no Muslims in my town – little diversity at all.

I do not fear those who do not exist here. I fear those who do,

those who outnumber me and those who lean on falsehoods;

I fear their guns and their tempers,
their blind hatred and their snap reactions.

I know those who are victim to a misshapen faith do not understand
love as it is: without preconceptions.

I know those who fight for this generation’s musket do not know

they are the ammunition for the weapon they believe protects them,

the weapon used to kill their neighbors.

They do not know that with every belly-ache argument
to hold on to these guns they pull a trigger; someone dies.

They do not know intolerance is genocide.
They shout: sinner, abomination—
not knowing the heaviness of words, of slurs.

They define: bleeding-heart liberal;
not knowing the truth of it.

They do not know this fear:
watching folks bleed to be remembered as human.

This is:

a baseball game / a grocery store / a first date / a dog park / America / a marriage
ceremony / lunch with friends / an argument at work / the internet / a public restroom /
church / business as usual / a quick walk down the block / prom / Orlando / home /
where you want to be / a bar / a safe place / Pride Month / a dance floor / war / a funeral /

a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral /
a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral /
a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral /
a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral /
a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral /
a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral / a funeral.




Rachel Nix

Rachel Nix is a native of Northwest Alabama, where pine trees outnumber people and she likes it. She is the Poetry Editor at cahoodaloodaling, Associate Editor at Pankhearst, and aunt to a little boy who’ll never be taught to hurt or hate. She can be followed at @rachelnix_poet on Twitter.



Follow the Tracks #34 : Weekly Song Picks




On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
The Marriage Of Coyote Woman” – All Them Witches



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
You Don’t Get Me High Anymore” – Phantogram



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Get Your Shit Together” – Pillowfight



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Dark In My Imagination” – of Verona



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
All Night” – Chance The Rapper


Follow this playlist on:

   or   


Founding Editor


Amanda Oaks is the founding editor of Words Dance Publishing, an independent press, literary blog + biweekly online poetry journal. Her works have appeared in numerous online & print publications, including decomP, Stirring, Glamour & Elle. She is the author of four poetry collections: Hurricane Mouth (NightBallet Press, 2014), her co-authored split book, I Eat Crow (Words Dance, 2014) & her series of free digital music-inspired chapbooks.


Double D by Kate Foley


Ascension by Jennifer Henriksen | Shop | Website | Facebook | Twitter


Double D

Megan and I borrow her mother’s
Macy’s catalogue. We squeeze together

on the porch swing and browse through pages
filled with ladies prettier than we’d ever be.

Megan points with her pinky at a woman
wearing a beige bra and lace panties.

I wish I looked like that and
her boobs are the size of the moon.

I remember hoping that someday someone
would look at me like I was the moon.

This was before men started looking at me
like I was an object. I did not realize

that the second my chest flourished,
I’d hear wolf whistles coming

from outside the playground.
I didn’t know that complete strangers would tell me

that my breasts would look better
with their face between them.

Megan turns the page to a woman in a silk slip,
she says: I hope my boobs bloom like that.

When they did, I heard every boy in her middle school
suddenly learned her name.

My name is Person. My name is Not My Body.
My name is More Than You Can Hold.



Kate Foley

Kate Foley is a young, emerging Canadian writer. She has been published in Yellow Chair Review, Germ Magazine, Eunoia Review, and others. She studies English Literature and Creative Writing at Dalhousie University in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She’s passionate about art journaling, helping others, dogs, and winged eyeliner. .



When the Moon Hits Your Eye Like a Big Pizza Pie by Jaclyn Weber


photography by Jennifer Henriksen | Shop | Website | Facebook | Twitter


When the Moon Hits Your Eye Like a Big Pizza Pie

There is nothing amore about the moon,
a piece of rock,
an impactful break up
between two star-crossed lovers.

Earth, the better looking
of the couple and the moon
is going through these phases:
In and out of love.

But, still the moon pulls the oceans,
luminously full of love.
Still takes on the biggest asteroids,
cratered faced impacts.

Planet earth spins on its axis,
focused more on the sun
a brighter flame.

The moon’s darker side
sneaking peeks in-between
lunar eclipses.

There is nothing romantic
about lovers
kissing in moonlight
connected to each others’
crusted mouths:

Soil to roots,
rocks to the Earth-
shattering reminder,

the first break up
between two solid masses
unsure who revolves
around who.




Jaclyn Weber

Jaclyn Weber graduated from Bradley University with a B.S. in English, Creative Writing, and is head speech and debate coach at Troy high school in Southern California. She has been published in Bird’s Thumb, Bluestockings magazine, The Feminist Wire and Write Bloody Publishing. She’s been nominated for both, 2015 The Best of the Net and the 2015 Pushcart Prize and won the 2013 and 2014 Academy Of American Poets Prize and the 2013 Civil Rights Poetry Competition at Bradley University.



Follow the Tracks #33 : Weekly Song Picks




On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Muddy Waters” – LP



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Rant Rushmore” – Fantastic Negrito



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
I Need Never Get Old” – Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Destruction” – Joywave



On your mobile device? Click below to open the YouTube app:
Blk Girl Soldier” – Jamila Woods


Follow this playlist on:

   or   


Founding Editor


Amanda Oaks is the founding editor of Words Dance Publishing, an independent press, literary blog + biweekly online poetry journal. Her works have appeared in numerous online & print publications, including decomP, Stirring, Glamour & Elle. She is the author of four poetry collections: Hurricane Mouth (NightBallet Press, 2014), her co-authored split book, I Eat Crow (Words Dance, 2014) & her series of free digital music-inspired chapbooks.


Meridian by Jonathan Louis Duckworth


I am a Forest and a Night of Dark Trees by Jennifer Henriksen | Shop | Website | Facebook | Twitter

Meridian

In a cobblestone market
a woman sells potatoes
and other scabs of the earth.

But only at strange hours,
so that she can blot her features
with the ink of night.

Her face is two halves
bisected by a meridian
of blisters.

The one hemisphere smooth
and freckled like pear skin,
the other raw and marbled,
hard and cracked like
the shingles of a chateau’s
sun-blasted ruin.

Once she saw and felt
the entire world catching fire,
but only half believed it.




Jonathan Louis Duckworth

Jonathan Louis Duckworth is an MFA student at Florida International University and a reader for the Gulf Stream Magazine. His fiction, poetry, and non-fiction appears in or is forthcoming in New Ohio Review, Fourteen Hills, PANK Magazine, Literary Orphans, Cha, Superstition Review, and elsewhere.