I see your eyes bulging
Sounds like you’re trying to buy a vowel
Drool pooling at the corners of your mouth
All because I dropped my towel
by CAPTAIN Q
© All rights reserved 2021
I see your eyes bulging
Sounds like you’re trying to buy a vowel
Drool pooling at the corners of your mouth
All because I dropped my towel
by CAPTAIN Q
© All rights reserved 2021
Shoebill was clacking her massive beak in Capybara’s face again.
“I. Said. One. Carton. қымыз. You. Are. Stupid. Mammal.”
She was always clacking in Morse code. You know, instead of communicating normally and just saying shit. Normally.
Anyway, Capybara was rather embarrassed now, like any man in the face of tough woman’s logic. Had he not followed her request, step for step? “Can you go down to the store for a carton of қымыз?” she’d clacked. “And if they have coconuts, get four.” So, what was the problem? The store had coconuts, so he’d gotten four cartons of қымыз.
Simple!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021
somewhere in the country of baanail
is a teddy on a spike, its plush guts laid out
they say you shouldn’t be afraid of your fears
but when you see this grisly sight you’ll burst into tears
somewhere in the country of baanail
lurks a nightmare cult of toy sacrificers
they rip off button noses and beaded eyes
and snip cotton throats to silence their cries
somewhere in the country of baanail
an unsettled tourist is regretting he came
he deletes all his photos and cancels his bookings
vows never to return for future lookings
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021
“they say” Elsa is on the way;
ready ourselves for the inevitability
of thunderstorms
yet the sun is skydiving
without a care in the world and
I’m growing skeptical.
I want to be prepared;
steer clear of windows and
shut down all electronic devices
in a timely manner;
I can’t help it–every time there’s
a storm, I hear my mother’s voice;
“Turn off those lights and
that damn tv! God is talking!”
shouldn’t I be mindful if
in fact, God IS speaking?
meteorologists are tapping their
pointers at markers on their
maps, unsure of exact touchdown
points yet “We should be on the
lookout” for damaging winds
and heavy rain
and every year, during
hurricane season, my anxiety
levels are heightened.
there’s a new storm named
ever other day, it seems . . .
why does the ocean argue
with the sky?
who is monitoring its raised voice
or defending the shores
and the pleading animals?
Elsa may show up with
a pent-up wrath buried inside
her and I say, “let it rip but
just have mercy.”
the souls of man
could use a cleansing.
by TRE
© All rights reserved 2021
a slip of flame wags like a red-tailed fox
o’er candlewick sill in the moonlight box
sets ghost birds aflight in lucent flocks
o’er vespertine forest and druidic rocks
the road yonder runs thither throughout the ages
its footprints tell the story of hatchling sages
from trees bedangled with their birthing cages
open, in spirals, zig-zagging in stages
no questions, no answers, just a mystery play
of knotted roots, weaved wood and branching splay
and the thin, shrill cry of a sleepless jay
from dusk covered verdure and vertebrae
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021