Sunday, May 29, 2016

Slaying of the Doe

you were the gorilla
thumping its chest
in victory
but your power
was not the roar of a lion
among  tall grasses of arid plains

but weakness

like a young foal struggling to stand
for the first time
minus the innocent beauty
like her

forever marred

on the day you took it from her
against her will
leaving her crumpled and broken
collapsed, graceless, and bleeding

afterwards her nightmares
were only of sound

the grunting of gorillas

but it felt good to you
slick and wet
and all you recalled
was that she was upset
she was a Catholic girl
who lost her virginity

--Casey Powers

Saturday, May 28, 2016

Two Poems by Ada Jenkins


Mother, you’re so funny

with your sterile, marbled emotions,
smooth to the touch.

And your words that bleed out of your mouth,
like a pig going to the slaughter.

Mother, you’re so funny

with your hot cross bun eyes,
and raisin mouth, round and puckered,
shriveled to silence like a piece of dead skin.

You’re so funny

With your numb white fingers
always pressing,
like a pen in my head.

But I’m not laughing anymore.

I’ve stopped laughing.


light, innocent, soft.
Newborn babies falling from the sky.

Landing, dissolving
wherever chance takes them:
subjected to nature's laws.

the perfect offspring,
seen but never heard.

Sculpted ice babies,
it’s a shame you have to melt,

It will be a slow process,
like a snake shedding its skin
or a caterpillar: hot and sticky,
struggling in its own secretions,
waiting to emerge

A drowning shadow in new light.

Slow for you,
but quick for us
as we watch in safety:
outsiders to your snow globe.

Dislocated from you
and your sadness;
rejections and bitter disappointments.

Your chiseled faces
dissolve together,
mutilated by the sun.

Thawed by the same bony fist
that waits for us all to melt.  

--Ada Jenkins

Speak Your Peace, Etc (Editor's Update)

Speak Your Peace was a blast. You shoulda been.

Right now I have no computer, ie no real access to the awesome poetry of that eve, or the awesome vids depicting said poetry. I will TRY to get this sorted prior to my Eurotravels, but there's no guarantee. Same goes for all other pending submissions/scheduled publications.

Neglect, love... Love, neglect.
How do we reconcile them?*

(The neglectful) Caitlin

*Irvine Welsh reference (a la The Undefeated: An Acid House Romance), in case it wasn't obvious