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Slice of nothing
empty plate
piles of vacancy
cover the horizon
population zero
still cities
quiet interstates
heaping helpings
devoid of substance
fistful of fingers
garbled signals
snow and static
white noise
no noise at all

Gimme gimme
snow and stasis
thought not
vacuum head
intellectual parasites starve to death
digging their teeth deeper into my scalp
desperate for a taste of ******* something.

Shallow waters
jean pools
denim sheets
flannel curtains
clouded windows
hazy eyes
breadth of sun
shining light upon
nothing.
 May 19
Francie Lynch
Beat it
Into resignation.
Flog it
Into degeneration.
Disparage it
Into decomposition.
or
Leave it
To wither all alone.
These are some choices.
There are others.
Embrace it
To become integral.
Surround it
To become enclosed.
Adopt it
To be your mantle.
and then
You wither alone.
 May 17
Julie Butler
Woke up something soft
this morning
3:36, 37
the unfailing sound of orange

time traveler’s pillowcase
face down like
the root of something
bigger
preferring

I’m learning this
the long way

Panting after
licking the envelope

stuck inside of
appetite’s loop
& my tendencies hands
all over you
The lone tree stands atop the hill
in centuries t'will stand there still.
It witnessed love when young and bold,
then saw it's Autumn laced with gold.
It now brings shelter from the frost
that's only felt when love is lost.
 Dec 2024
Francie Lynch
The paper, with ** **s,
Lies crumpled on the floor.
The Santa wreath with berries,
Clings  haphhazardly on the door.
The darkling tree with heirloom baubles,
Will be tomorrow's chore.
I'll rise and go to bed now;
That's it. There is no more.

It doesn't change from year to years;
Behind my eyes, my happy tears,
Behind my lips, I smirk and smile,
Behind me lies this Season's sighs.

The following day I'll stow away
All semblance of this Christmas Day;
Pack up all my anticipations,
And closet my poor celebrations.
There disappointments and delights,
Are kept under wraps
When kept out of sight.

Yet, being a man of age and sage,
I know I will turn the page;
And begin again to wish and hope,
Making me a Christmas Dope.
 Aug 2024
Kevin Seiler
I don’t know if I’m that good at convincing my loved ones that I’m ok.
Or if they simply don’t care as much as they say they do.
 Aug 2024
Francie Lynch
I am He.
You, She.
We are moored
Inexplicably.

I bide.
 Jul 2024
Dark n Beautiful
Lillian’s Echo

In the dayroom’s dim embrace, Lillian sat—a survivor etched in time. The air clung to stories, whispered secrets, and the lingering scent of suffering. She, the one-character legend, spun her tales—prose blabber, raw and unfiltered.

Born into the system’s cold arms, Lillian emerged as an adult onto Brooklyn’s unforgiving streets. There, she tasted the bitter brew of inhumanity—the kind that seeps into bones, leaving scars unseen.

Abortions etched memories on her soul. Each child, born or unborn, imprinted on her heart. Tears flowed freely among the day roomers, their lives force-fed with drugs until the final breath. Neglect and abuse danced in shadows, haunting their fragile existence.

Lillian’s own children—thirteen souls conceived in the crucible of ****. Some lost to the system, others to her desperate choices. Abortion, a relentless companion, etched its refrain: “You will never forget.”

Ms. Smaldone, wise and weathered, shared her truth. Money, she warned, was no legacy for offspring. Instead, travel—imbibe life’s nectar before the curtain falls. Merril Lynch riches crumbled when sickness struck, and family greed devoured her nest egg.

Lillian listened, her eyes reflecting pain. She vowed to seize life’s moments, to honor the lost and the forsaken. Four west day roomers, souls adrift, yearned for salvation. May they rest in peace, their echoes woven into Lillian’s prose.
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