Unremembering

You are drifting into the black-and-white blur
that divides reality from imagination. How long

did my hand linger in the delicate small
of your back? How deep was the green

in your eyes the first time you let me
see them all the way through? Is everything

as soft as I remember everything being?
Did the cinnamon of your breath really mix

with the hunger of my mouth upon yours? You are
a haunt to me, a fading gray of unremembering.

Danny Earl Simmons is an Oregonian and a proud graduate of Corvallis High School. He is a friend of the Linn-Benton Community College Poetry Club and an active member of Albany Civic Theater. His poems have appeared in a variety of journals such as The Pedestal Magazine, Prism Review, Off the Coast, IthacaLit, and Fifth Wednesday Journal.

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X’s and O’s

Would you watch it
with the X’s and O’s?

Please.
I’m a guy.

X’s and O’s
are sophisticated
formations
of you go here,
then go there,
pay attention to this,
respond to that.

X’s and O’s
are the Kama Sutra,
baby.

They ain’t no
“Ta ta, see you soon.
Say, ‘hi,’ to the Mrs.
Hugs and kisses.”

Are we clear?

Danny Earl Simmons is an Oregonian and a proud graduate of Corvallis High School. He is a friend of the Linn-Benton Community College Poetry Club and an active member of Albany Civic Theater. His poems have appeared in a variety of journals such as The Pedestal Magazine, Prism Review, Off the Coast, IthacaLit, and Fifth Wednesday Journal.

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She Went Too Damned Blonde for Anybody’s Good

Her walk wiggled its way into a sashay;
her hugs got tighter, took longer,
stopped including the shoulders;
her tan lines crept down on top,
shimmied up down below
and more men met the edges of them.
Even her laugh took a turn –
going from a guffaw
of throwing the head back with a snort,
to a bouncing giggle and a lean.
Before long, she could not remember
the meaning of certain big words.

Danny Earl Simmons is an Oregonian and a proud graduate of Corvallis High School. He is a friend of the Linn-Benton Community College Poetry Club and an active member of Albany Civic Theater. His poems have appeared in a variety of journals such as The Pedestal Magazine, Prism Review, Off the Coast, IthacaLit, and Fifth Wednesday Journal.

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Severed

I look down and see the fake finger—complete with lifelike bone and gore and blood, all molded plastic and sloppy paint—and sweep around it. You stole it from one of those costume stores that pop up in outlet shopping malls around Halloween and shut their doors after a big sale in mid-November. I remember that. The finger didn’t go with your fortune cat costume but you wanted it anyway. I wore a hockey jersey and put some black makeup around my eyes, held a stick in one hand, Canadian beer in the other. The finger didn’t go with my costume either.

You carried the finger around the dress-up party, giving people wet willies, swirling drinks, and putting a slight spin on the classic ‘pull my finger’ gag. I remember most of it. We—at least I’m pretty sure it was a mutual and non-verbal agreement—decided to drink too much. Halloween’s one of those nights, when it’s okay. The finger ended up in my pocket when you shoved me out of the bathroom playfully or maybe you were throwing up. I remember giving it back to you though; you bit the fingernail and flicked the plastic off your upper teeth in my direction playfully or maybe not.

The last time I saw the plastic finger, we were fighting. The fight was severe and near our end. You wouldn’t look me in my eyes and kept using the plastic finger to point at me, like every time you thrust the fake digit in my direction a needle of reason pricked my skin, made me realize how fucking stupid I truly was. I don’t remember who was right or wrong or what we were even fighting about. You ended up throwing the plastic finger at me and it hit me in the chest. I guess I kicked it into the corner after that. Now I don’t know if I want to move it or not.

Tyler Meese lives in Bloomington, IN.

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Eldon

from a series of poems entitled Rockies

Samantha F Jones lives and writes in Calgary, Alberta. She maintains her poetry blog, mediumblackdog, with original experimental, found, and free verse poetry, and is currently completing the Creative Writing Certificate at the University of Calgary.

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Kananaskis Range

from a series of poems entitled Rockies
Kananaskis Range

Samantha F Jones lives and writes in Calgary, Alberta. She maintains her poetry blog, mediumblackdog, with original experimental, found, and free verse poetry, and is currently completing the Creative Writing Certificate at the University of Calgary.

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Just Us

What say we
kill everyone we ever liked
or kissed
or slept with
and we sew their skins together
to make a blanket fort
and we hide out inside it
together forever,
just the two of us
in our silent shell of skin?

Or we could root around downtown
for a bloody needle,
and when we find one,
I’ll poke you
and you can poke me
and we can get AIDS together
and we’ll only sleep with each other
for the rest of our lives;
even if only
to avoid a lawsuit.

And the next time some guy
says my eyes hold all the colors of the world
or my hair reminds him of
the angels on the ceiling at church,
I’ll wrap my arm
around his neck
and kiss him
and when he sticks his tongue in my mouth,
I’ll bite it off and swallow it
and shit out all his words
so you can see
they meant nothing to me.

We can throw our TV off the balcony
and chuck the laptop in the pool
and sit in silence with the shades drawn;
and you can paint
your own Mona Lisas
and I’ll write
my own Harry Potters
and we can share them with each other
and burn them right after
so no one but us
can enjoy them.

And when we’re old
and done with it all,
let’s go skydiving
without chutes.
Let’s toss ourselves
on the blades of a helicopter
far below,
and rain ruby droplets
on tendon roots
and femur saplings
as they spread over the wilderness
to stand pale and proud
as we once were.

Brianna Ferguson is entering the third year of her combined Creative Writing and English major program at The University of British Columbia. She has been published two years running in the university anthology Paper Shell, as well as in the anthology Common Ground. Earlier this year she published a chapbook entitled Diatoms, which explored the minute beauty of the day-to-day and the unspoken obstacles that shape our lives.

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