An Ax For The Frozen Sea by Rob Plath available at Epic Rites Press

An Ax For The Frozen Sea

The Fold by Chris Butler

attempted to fold me
in square creases
into the mold
of all other scraps of paper
shaped into origami swans,

but like all of the fallen trees,
I’d rather rot.

Smokes by Ryan Quinn Flanagan‏

The many teenagers
out front the corner convenience
want me to buy them

They appeal to my vanity

make me feel young again
anything to get them

A few of the girls

make eyes
rub my shoulder
as if paedophilia
took a holiday.


for them
I am good.


as any

Having jerked off eight times

in the past twenty-six
(a new land speed

I desire a bag of pork rinds

and a 2 litre

and no longer


Map of wanton Omaha by James Diaz

All fall
the entire horse hair
its blue bone prayer
the blur in your voice
is a borrowed thing
not even five dollars
will mother you

the next station
is a crippled man/woman
with child rearing phantom hips
lost in a bout
of 48 years, non-living
sentient blindness

cool even
the way a person hands
you a piece of their soul
'I too, am lost in that desert'
lesson #1, do not
trust that the world
will continue to be there
every time you open your eyes.

ENJOY OBLIVION by Wolfgang Carstens available at Epic Rites Press


Two Poems by John Grey


the crowd can’t get enough
of that female corpse

being dragged from the river –
if you slapped that

grisly green flesh
on a plate before them

they’d gorge on the misfortune
like vultures

then piss in their own mouths
to wash it down

unless, of course,
it’s someone they know –

then they’d be sated enough
for having pushed her.


The leaking tap
seems important at the time.
Despite my struggles with, wrench and washer,
my failure drip drip drips out of the faucet.

On TV, more sick, more dying.
A nun lifts up a frail arm,
thin as a plumber's snake.

On that tell-all screen,
the world is never more repulsive.
Children with concave chests, bloated bellies.
Lepers. A young girl's botched circumcision.
An old man sunk in a mire of sores.

Almost forget the leaking tap
in all this misery.
But it's insistent.
Hard to believe a tiny drop of water
can beat the basin like a bass drum.

The tap never does get fixed.
Likewise the world.
The newscast, at least,
can turn to weather and sports.
No idea who won.
Only that it rained in my house.

Getting out of the fuzzy place by David E. Howerton

Fog covered, and cool day starts
stay up late, eyes gummy, still tired.

Just as some News copter
passes overhead
more annoying than morning rush.

Run fingers through graying hair
start coffee brewing.

If I'd been out there
I'd have given
a one finger salute.

She Poems by Mike Meraz available at Epic Rites Press

She Poems


About Me

Black-Listed Magazine is an online literary magazine. We publish on a rolling basis: weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Send submissions here:

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