Cameron Boyd Jul 2016

I’ve got a song in my head
I don’t know what it’s called,
I don’t believe it has a name.
It’s catchy and I hate it.

It’s infectious, insidious,
It’s claws in deep, it’s wretched.
I’ll tap my foot while on the bus,
Amidst rows of other people,
Ticking their fingers,
Clicking their tongues,
To different beats of different songs,
Which they’ve all got stuck too.

I wonder if they’ve ever noticed
That some rattle out the same rhythm.

Every now and then
I’ll notice a face across the way,
To my toe taps.
Like this one girl,
There’s no way she could have heard me.
It was interesting.
Like a nervous tick she sat there,
Rapidly shutting the world out momentarily,
Desperately trying to forget the rhythm,
To think of another song,
Any other tune.
At least,
I imagine.

I saw another at the bar,
Prattling out the chorus with his knuckles
Against an empty glass,
Only briefly,
Before asking for another.

It’s the same damned song.

One, two, six, eight, thirty seven, nine.
I’ve begun to make up words for it.
Eat, sleep, go to work, gotta be on time.
Seventeen, two, ten, fifty, thirty four.
See the screen, watch the ads,
Instill the fear of being poor.

Four hundred forty four trillion
Six hundred thirty six billion
Nine hundred eighty nine million
Forty six thousand and change.

I know I won’t ever be famous
I try but I’ll never be shameless
The direction I’m going is aimless
With all of my dreams out of range.

I see others, heads hung low,
Dragging a foot every other step,
Tapping their pockets in time.
It’s plain to see on some,
How long they’ve heard these sounds,
How many celebrations have been
Narrated by this drone...

Twenty two, thirty one,
Take forty five, sixty eight,
Two three four seventeen hundred wife?

I see some have given up,
Given in to resignation,
Heads bruised, walls dented,
Some mumbled sums falling through their yellowed teeth.

I see others that think it’s funny,
laughing at how it can be so bothersome.
I’ve seen them too, broken,
When a punchline didn’t come.

I saw something today though-
It frightened me.

Crossing the street,
Grinding out a slow bridge
Between my teeth,
A rock in someone’s tire tread
Providing a convenient click,
I saw a window open
And a man was there.
Or what used to be one.
As if he could hear my molars rolling
Heavily on one another,
He bobbed his head from left to right.

When he fell there was no moment of second thought in his actions.
He did not wait to be fully outside,
Presenting himself to the world
Before making a show of his decision.
It was as though,
Rather than crawling over the sill
He was crawling to the street below.
It looked so smooth,
So purposeful.
If it wasn’t for his calm demeanor
It might have looked as though he fell,
Having tripped over something in the room,
And was entirely accidental.

I think it would be more appropriate to say
He fell
A long time ago.

Possibly when he got home.
He fell in the doorway,
losing his boots by the door,
And into the kitchen.
Jacket catching itself,
Hanging neatly on a chair,
He fell towards the fridge,
where he accidentally knocked a fifth of vodka
Into his mouth.
And he kept falling,
Towards his cat,
Spilling food into her bowl,
Then up the stairs he fell,
Plummeting down the hallway,
Knocking doors shut behind him as he went.
And in his room he fell so fast
His clothes flew off of him
And in the gust of wind he brought
Clean clothes were swept up
And he fell into those too,
Gently falling out his window.

Maybe he fell before then,
When his job was automated.
Or before then,
When a judge ruled no custody.
Maybe he tripped over the body of a friend in highschool
And just never found his balance again.

I don’t know.

Paramedics were there quickly,
Vancouver’s best.
They must have been just down the street.

Before they got there
I got there.

His shoulder wasn’t where it was supposed to be,
And his elbow had popped across the sidewalk.

He was mumbling.

“Zero one double O ten zero zero,
O eleven hundred one zero zero,
Zero one one zero one one zero zero,
Zero triple one quadruple zero.
Double O one hundred thousand,
Zero one ten eleven zero one,
O eleven double O one zero one,
Zero zero one one triple one zero.”

I wish he fell farther.

Today is my 25th birthday.
Mario Cervantes Jun 2016

You can walk a mile in my shoes
But can you walk a mile with Jesús
Can u choose to change your views
Wake up and refuse to hit the snooze
Grind as if you had nothing left to lose
Can you put down the juice as an excuse
To defuse and soothes but never smooths
Cuz at night my street turn into Zoos
The loose screws confuse us on the news
While u indulge in pleasure instead of truths
That only proves abuse when you seduce
So I ask are those boobs really balloons
Are those jules worth the abuse
You bump and bruise who's to accuse
Tell me before the wounds turn into tombs

Jesús on the second line is pronounced in Spanish (Hey-soos)
Max Watt May 2016

They say that psychologically we all got triggers,
but they're just part of the guns to our heads.
A day job requires you to hit certain figures
and in that regard those triggers are all pulled


I don't say it lightly, the lot of us are simply doomed
if we stay here. And truthfully that's what I dread.
The fact that we never move from this fucking room
is a constant testament to our nature.

our divine comedy

Have we become futile? To tell you the truth, probably.
Who did that? Them or us? Who tossed away the toast
and handed us the dry, hi vis laden crusting?
You, my friend. You who tripped. You whose mind

is stripped away

Being kind
Moving in the grind
Wasting No time

Death-throws Mar 2016

Labour clenses
I sweat pure evil.
Lifting freight, peddling souls

No thank you
Im not climbing the ranks.
But slowly i begin to grin

I know where i fit
Assosciated with happiness.
Only known by doubt

Through labour i lift my plight

Pauline Russell Mar 2016

I'm in self destruct mode
I'm about to explode
Stand back folks, watch the show

I'll drink like a fish without any gills
Don't try to figure out all my ills
As I swallow down a handful of pills

This self destruction I will not fight
Hell, I don't even remember last night
Needless to say, my head's not right

Slam some Jack and his old friend Jim
I'm seeing double and it's getting dim
I think I just might be on the rim

I'm in self destruct
Please over look my conduct
As more pieces of my being, I must deduct

Parts of me must die
It hurts, so I'll do it on high
Body on the ground, spirit's in the sky

Feet firmly planted in self destruction grind
Like a vampire craving the sunshine
If you look now, you'd be horrified at what you find

Needles in vains
Like pills down the drain
Anything to stay insane

I'm in self destruct mode
I'm about to explode
Stand back folks, watch the show

Pauline Russell Mar 2016

Useless memories that only makes me bleed
I'm about to give up, about to coincide
Lifes a joke and I'm the punch line
I'm on the wheel of time
Spinning around throwing sparks in the grind
Knowing full well things will never be fine
I never was something
About to become nothing

Pauline Russell Feb 2016

Useless memories that only makes me bleed
I'm about to give up, about to coincide
Lifes a joke and I'm the punch line
I'm on the wheel of time
Spinning around throwing sparks in the grind
Knowing full well things will never be fine
I never was something
About to become nothing

Randy Ray Price Jan 2016

The clutch of winter’s cold hand chokes the air out of me just a little bit more every day. I gasp for air, but it is a lifeless, most un-sufficing sort of air. I don’t desire the oxygen, but I need it to survive. As I tread through the gray city streets the wind has a peculiar way of always flowing against me. The snow banks, by this time of year, are no longer white and pretty. No. They are dirty, worn out, aching for their inevitable fate to remove them from this depressing city. But they know they still have many weeks before their suffering ends. I feel a connection with them, knowing that someday my time will come.
However, long before my inevitable death, many new summer times will spring forth much life. Soon, the air will hold life again. The wind will suddenly shift away from my face, the sun will shine a little brighter, and the poor snow banks will be taken out of their misery and replaced with green grass. I only know this because it happens every year, and I have no reason to believe this year should be any different. It is this knowledge that carries me through the grind of winter. Don't worry, your gray days will pass.

An unusually straight forward approach.
Lucas Keith Sep 2013

I saw them frenzied and purposeless.
  I saw them hectic and hurried.
    Wayward ants with no queen, no
Madness of movement, building… fixing.
  To no end, they continued, ashes
     and rubble bequeathed new crowns.
        Shiny modern facades and feats.
They weren't in union, isolated incidents.
   Unbound by laws, but held by expectation.
      Ignored cries, human deprivation, and
        dreamless sleeps till death.
Progress protected fleshy robots, preserving
   the fevered pointless rushing.
     I saw them pretending to live, to connect.
       I saw them die, become dust, pounded
          into cement and forgotten.
I saw them cold and apathetic.
   I saw them with falsetto smiles, screeching
      sincerity, while left hand denying it.
         I saw them fade, to nature and ghosts.

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