A Love Letter from a Toothbrush to a Bicycle Tire -Sarah Kay
December 26, 2015, 8:19 am
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They told me that I was meant for the cleaner life, that you would drag me through the mud. They said that you would tread all over me, that they could see right through you, that you were full of hot air, that I would always be chasing, always watching you disappear after sleeker models, that it would be a vicious cycle.

But I know better. I know about your rough edges and I have seen your perfect curves, and I will fit into any spaces you let me. If loving you means getting dirty, bring on the grime, I will leave this porcelain home behind. I’m used to twice a day relationships, but with you, I’ll take all the time. And I know, we live in different world and we’re always really busy.

But in my dreams, you spin around me so fast I always wake up dizzy. So maybe one day you’ll grow tired of the road and roll on back to me. And when I blink my eyes into the morning, your smile will be the only thing I see.


December 19, 2015, 10:37 am
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who made the snail, curled in a perfect house,
shitting on its own head; I mean the god

of untrue colours, the chartreuse and teal
god; I mean god of the conditional

tense, in the dark on the sixth day, who said
If there had been light: and there had been light.

I mean that god. I mean: Dear thick-kneed god,
Dear god who wears shoes big, who shambles —

Swallowed -Mark Bibbins
December 16, 2015, 10:25 am
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When I see an escalator I have to kiss
everyone on it, don’t you? If you like these

pastries—our lawyer calls them perfidy rolls—
there are more on his helicopter.

He’s Serbian or something,
whole family wiped out

by his other family. But he’s fine now.
Drop a kiss on the cultural floor,

three-second rule applies. I don’t even know
who I’m kissing anymore, do you?

Sneak away to where the world snaps in half
and come back with sanctions, come back

with sauces, come back with Haribo,
come back with Inferno flashcards,

come back with the glottal nonstop.
Dear Ciacco, your flowers were delicious but barely

a lunch so we dug a new grave for the stems.
“Finish us up,” they sang, “or finish us off.”

Lie down in sewage to stay down; sit up
only for people-will-see-me-and-die–level fame,

smiling like your teeth are on fire.
Oh darling you know what they say:

why have one factory
when you can have five. Our lawyer always

reminds us, “Little hands, long hours.” Indeed!
If I could eat my voice I would, but I’m off

to seize the world, the inside of its machine.
This is the way Celan ends, not with a bang

but a river. Woolf, too; she goes out
the same goddamn way—

I mean, wind any creature tight
enough and it does what it has to do.

I Wore This Dress Today for You, Mom, -Kim Dower
December 10, 2015, 9:23 am
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breezy, floral, dancing with color
soft, silky, flows as I walk
Easter Sunday and you always liked


to get dressed, go for brunch, “maybe
there’s a good movie playing somewhere?”
Wrong religion, we were not church-goers,


but New Yorkers who understood the value
of a parade down 5th Avenue, bonnets
in lavender, powder blues, pinks, hues


of spring, the hope it would bring.
We had no religion but we did have
noodle kugel, grandparents, dads


who could fix fans, reach the china
on the top shelf, carve the turkey.
That time has passed. You were the last


to go, mom, and I still feel bad I never
got dressed up for you like you wanted me to.
I had things, things to do. But today in L.A.—


hot the way you liked it—those little birds
you loved to see flitting from tree to tree—
just saw one, a twig in its mouth, preparing


a bed for its baby—might still be an egg,
I wish you were here. I’ve got a closet filled
with dresses I need to show you.

needed this!
December 8, 2015, 8:04 pm
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finals schminals



GUYS, only 5 more days until my last final is due and I get to start reading “normal stuff” again! Here’s the cheeseball/YA/poetry/daydream pile I’ve been eyeing for months! 😍

December 3, 2015, 7:15 pm
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