Father Time
by Sarah Endsley
Ants on the phone
Mouse in a glue trap
A burnt lampshade
Small hairline scar
Broken heart tissue
Resuscitated again
Daddy please don’t
This time
I want to leave
The mouse, writhing in the glue
For hours and hours, for days
The mouse
It’s …

Boston, July 2010
by Sarah Endsley
The horses are dark
& skittish–
and when I turn,
their eyes flare–
I’ve always ridden bareback,
couldn’t stand the saddle
In the wild, they’d
have no reason
to fear. In the
wild, no need for
ptsd. Or proof.
The lightning’s the …

autobiography
by sarah endsley
I’m just here to see the show. Waiting for the curtain. Pretending that time exists, and things can stop, and go.
Some of my reactions are positive, others negative, all meaningless. I used to …

inspired by you, a few months ago.
by sarah endsley
We could have been
friends if not for him–
though we never could
have really been friends.
Your breasts bent toward
his hat–his face–
as you closed the bar.
I had tripped on the
way …

Joshua Starr
by sarah
Met a guy at the 7-11 on Sun.
He hopped in my car and slept on my couch,
Now I can’t shake him.
Says he knew Elvis, met Johnny Depp, and wants to live in …

Episodes, 18 and 27
by sarah endsley
That night in New York, he had thrown matches from the rooftops, while I awkwardly groped for his hands,
Whose wallet
His wallet
Blocking all the light in the doorway
The carpet dark with …

For C.
by sarah endsley
In eastern Washington, early August
when the sundown smokes the sky into a purple haze,
clouds begin to disappear
and the gentle sloping Columbia basin
slightly resembles your face.
Beyond my lazy reclining stance, there is a …

untitled
by sarah endsley
I.
There was never enough time for this, for anything.
For you or me. For sycamores.
The smell of buttered popcorn dead on the floor.
And what’s inside of us, and what’s inside of it, of them, …

Before and After the crash
by sarah endsley
Before the crash,
we were stylish–
we danced, rhythmically
we imagined
the chipper clink of glasses
against the purple sky.
Two white lines
completed our love
and the chatter of birds at dawn
cold and crisp
massaged our fragile …

insecurity
by sarah endsley
A grey abandoned pipe.
An open field.
Climb inside, trace the cracks.
Still, it is round, hollow, and when your fist hits its side,
It echoes, leaving knuckles raw.
Whispering, hold your breath.
Swim,
Bypass the bridge.
See you on the …

the one you feed
by sarah endsley
The rat-tail assaulting my entrance at two a.m.
The smile man greeting me, praying silently.
Rat is sarcastic, lethargic, mentioning moth-worn promises
that never awaken to morning warmth.
Smiley carefully reads passages that resonate …

Close the Ground
by ed foy
In a place where people learn to die
the intersection of car and bomb and building
becomes a math problem to be solved
and on the other side of the equal sign
is flesh smoke …

6.55 am
by s.e.e.
Pepsi and coughing. Coffee and smoking. Music and dawn. Coughing and glitter. Glitter and purple toes. Snow and commuters. An old, puppy-eaten slipper, and a watch with one band missing. An accusatory …

The Vote
by s.e.e.
Two people were sitting on my couch.
One had red hair, one black. Both dyed their hair.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I have two cupcakes.’ One was chocolate, one vanilla.
‘I’ll just put them here in front …

love without knowing
by s.e.e.
In the kitchen with Elvira,
All morning long,
Her puzzles taped to the table.
“You know Jeff is my son.” she says.
“He’s not right in the head.”
Groggy, half-dead with booze,
Pleading for a smoke,
I examine this …