Friday, October 28, 2011

Jack Galmitz

Looking Out

Through the door
pass a hundred clowns or more
each with a dagger
through the door
A woman enters my room
eating her placenta
through the door
the ballroom floor covered
with prayer carpets
through the door
Men seen dying
in fictions
through the door
infants working
without compensation
through the door
their songs

Jack Galmitz is on SSD for 4 or 5 mental illnesses.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Nima Kian


Body, I see you walk away.

Gravel streets recognize
my absence in your soles.

Did you learn a new language or did I
forget the way we talked to each other?

You grew quiet like a vessel, drained.

We cannot emigrate out of skin
that holds us together.

Another language changed us
from the inside. We are

foreigners in our self.
I understand that

our body-guest rearranges our living
arrangement, removes myelin

sheathing you draped
around axons of our brain and spinal cord.

Your reactions—what feel like multiple
tiny legs running on my skin,

electric water pouches under my feet,
crumpled fingers like deformed paper—

alarm me.

We possess a personal painter
who resides throughout our nervous system.

You and I, plus one whose abstract arts—
little white lines, narrow, scattered—

weaken us.

A new language takes time.

Fluency rescues.    

Nima Kian lives in Lincoln, NE, where he teaches writing at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in, Saint Mary's Magazine, Black Lantern Publishing, Mascara Literary Review, Mythic Delirium, Stone Highway Review, Strange Horizons, Blast Furnace, among others.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Linda Hunter


Racing thoughts run through my head,
I believe the demons are trying to keep me in bed.
Shake with fear all day long and hear a strange pop,
Please someone help me! make this stop!
I pray for the thoughts to stop tormenting me,
I feel like jumping high from a cliff into the sea.
Bad dreams and scary nights feel each day,
I wonder how long I will have to stay.
The drugs I take to make me well,
Fill my head so big I don’t want to swell.
So many tormenting years to come,
Why me? This torture is no fun.

Linda Hunter suffers from bi-polar type 2. She takes numerous medications.


Sunday, October 09, 2011

Jade Wallace

The Vines

twine upon the wall, garlands
for brick red hair that falls
from the head office

how do you feel about that?

sand skittering across rock with the
sound of
wordless whispering;
but my mother had words for it,
and she said-

let’s talk about you

I’d rather speak of the white
bench, around which the
trees huddled in quiet

why don’t you speak of yourself?

myself, lying
on woven grass,
small egg in a vast nest.
the sky is pearly
curving blue:
I am on the inside
of a seashell

i really think we need to work on developing your sense of self

senses: five:

radar by which
I receive images and
translate the transmissions
into paper logic

same time next week then?

thank you, doctor. 

Jade Wallace is an M.A. student in Social Justice and Equity Studies at Brock University. She currently has two chapbooks available for sale through Grey Borders books ( and has recently been published in (d)ead (g)end(er) magazine (see: She also has two blogs: (her literary blog) and (her silly but serious Star Wars-inspired blog). Also, Jade really likes her new eyeglasses.