Outcroppings–BjornIsaacson

from 2022 – 23 Plum Art Magazine

Jagged faces, bleeding chrome

Turning gold beneath the watchful eye of a melting star

How dazzling still after all these millennia

Such simple things overlooked by most Layers carefully set, exposed by eruption not one for mornings, at which icy teeth are snarled idk(Igotbored)

by River Schleifer

Ongrounds

Rinkevich

Tunnels

by Luke Finley-Gillis

Lawn Mower

by Josie Shields

analliterativetrainofthought –izzysanok–

rambunctious riders of giggling gaggles glint at the shattered glass -no plasticfalseness protecting and barricading brokenness from jubilance.

I am not invalid, this world remnants of riddles discovered beneath unbalanced bounties -scraps of ideas crumpled into non-sensical miscellaneousnessrelics of residual selfessness ignored.

We coexist in is.

I am not invalid, this world

We coexist in is.

by Gus Wise

Acidrap by Anonymous

“Sometimes the truth don’t rhyme, sometime the lies get millions of views.” - Chance the Rapper

MicNight

Finley-Gillis

Blue Vase

“CompeteAwayLovingly, MyPeople”

by Joey Quags

Totoro Bowl

by Sasha Rinkevich

GalaxyofLilypads

by Sasha Rinkevich

Poem 4 of 4 – Zunka’s Hum12

Spring-like calmness

The trees sing with the wind

Times Born of the earth itself like a distant humming from within like a echo whispering from my back. it says the same thing as me the clock continues to tick round and round

The only thing without end: gears spin until rusted, but time continues Time continues in a spiral I’m spiraling out of control

I tried counting out the bricks covered in ivy

I glared at the cobblestones beneath me Nantucket Streets where I frst learned to tango and I few

Forest Box

by Alex Lane

Snail Vase

GalaxyBowl

beingnottobe–izzysanok

ceaseless waves of cackles quake, tectonic movement of our masses begin to break an unbalanced, woven, iron table.

lounging in an amphitheater of food, I contemplate a fable: the terrifyingly surrealness of its emptiness, I sense various essences of good -Mediocre-nesslurking in my periphery: sequences inordinately engrossed in erroneous twinklings.

I sit, giggle, and inspect all beings in my circumference, unable to overcome this yearning to just be able to be.

Being, to be, is, are, was, were, All never me. entangled in webs encompassing my cell block mind, where being shall never pass through, an unwanted shrine of Neuronic corridors forever vacant… I cannot explain it.

however, once or twice a millennium, it snatches me, sending my soul on a complex catastrophe, a journey far far away from here. entirely enraptured in its mesmerizing glory i attain no thought and sustain no stories: words and movement dissipate into incongruous static of unfathomable fate.

Here, a place once fourishing with vivacity, reaches it breaking point with incessant abnormalities, now echoes with defance: Why am I like this?

its location: unknown. whispers of home unbreachable. halls and bookshelves stacked upon levels of unachievable excellence.

What can I do to suppress this, When I can’t dare to arrest these feelings of unseen.

Being lives not in my existence. it swerves, jetting across a far distance, But never arriving in my body: my nation. Some call it derealization, Spacy, Dizzy, Or out of it.

But I call it being not to be: complexities unbleached. Incomprehensible pathways all unable to be reached.