Sacred Unity! Happy Family! By Noah Michael Smith

Spouting fountains,

Spouting sacrificial purity

computer generated images, self-sacrificial protagonist.

Plot climax,

“Romance?! Holes in it!”

The fountains! Spouting forth,

Sacrificial ideal!


When I was eighteen , she spit on my tongue and told me how
A womb was replaced with lizards and fish and birds smashing theirselves into windows
And they cloned them,
Stocked them in any Tesco
Stolen from the woman had a mole on her shoulder
couldn’t dance enough

sneezing and coughing
Brings the back of her wrist to her nose to wipe wet yellow
Flecks of congealed,
And eye waters only once–

Bothered by the furs she slept in
The animal hides she wears,
The skins, nose drip lipstick
Dipstick of lip licks

Mascara trail incinerated
–Fabulosity always comes at some slippery congested price.

But she knows, look at her walking at you,
Clip clip heels (impressive dancer)
Don’t you think she fucking knows?
Clop clop heels (skyrocket landed on blood red moon)

“The blood surely smells of a human!” Margret exclaimed.

Traffic jam eyes.

-A crowd of silhouetted strangers enter-

Tighter than a young coconut,
She drains a thin cigarette, and thinks of the city
She thinks of her family–She thinks of shoplifted flesh.
A family of rocks and of rubbish under the bridge
A family, a unity
a family of evaporated eternality,
A family of a lover who disappeared before the morning,

The family, secret pulsing,

And secret publish to secret oneself,
To get her.
Families forever and ever.

*can be*

And then there was the emotional climax of her life- a piece seen through opera glass from the very back of the tip top balcony, obscured by standing men

waiting to pounce

a party where everyone wears traffic light colors, hers orange but shifting into green, the men observing with practiced perusal.

-Attentive self forced suitors-

She doesn’t know her color or her family’s color.

Oh how she would have avoided the situation if she only had _______!
If We were in her shoes then _________!

Because wait….
-Wooden comb through already picturesque hair-

Look at her,
The w–

Quixotic moonbeam,

–oman is, well….

Just look at the woman…

(supervixen, criminalized and victimized)

now look at us,
Victims of middle class complacency

Only the pretense of private deliberation amongst a group of predetermined individuals.


Don’t you think we know?

Ebola, Sunflowers, Love by Joshua Lew McDermott

for Kristiana and TiTi

The sunflower patch in the sidewalk
of the Mormon Summer in the brick-house
town reminded me of you.

And I owe no person any justification for that.
Yes, I let the flowers, yellow and healthy,
show me you, whose face I haven’t
seen in months, you, the only person
who can bring me to dancing. The flowers grow
and you grow too.

I could choose to love the flowers, or I could
choose to ignore them. Love is not fate;
its magnitude is in its choosing. I choose to love
you, and I choose the flowers for you, because
they are pretty to me and I miss you.

The sunflowers did not choose to grow there, they
were born just this summer – thrown like sunflowers
bursting and reaching, shaking their hair in the wind,
into an indifferent world of sidewalks.

That is why I love you, and that is why I chose to
love them: you and I were also thrown, born into the
vibrating summer, the dark rhythmic world, and I
choose to love you towards my death.

Shake your hair with me in the wind, my sister.
Dance like a superfluous yellow animal with me
through the piles of garbage, the sandy alleys,
and the tilting world of men with guns and
governments. I choose to love you towards
my death. Dying like a sunflower, the sun
on fire, I choose to love you.

Check out the archives!

Get excited for our new article on voluntourism and imperialism, out later this week, by taking a look through our archives. Here’s a taste of what you can expect, excerpted from “Sonny Dee Loses Hir Mind.”

God Hates Heterosexuals

Went up to heaven the other
Week / To pay a visit to
The Holy Ghost /
Caught him in bed with
Sigmund Freud / Hallelu /
Why should I worry /

Went down to hell late
Last night / To pay a visit
To the man I love most /
Caught him in bed with
The devil herself/ Hallelu /
Why should I worry /



“We are all going forward. None of us are going back.”
(Richard Siken)

there are two limes in my Hendricks and tonic
and Astroturf beneath my feet
there is a famous actor here who my girlfriend recognizes
he is wearing a hat and a pair of dirty sneakers
he is the son of two professional figure skaters from Leningrad

the last part of that
I learned from reading his IMDB biography

looking around at a lot of my sort-of friends gathered
laughing in a self indulgent and extravagant way
heads thrown back
too many teeth
touching each other’s knees with exaggerated and or maybe whimsical gesturing

one of my friends has a cigarette behind his ear and is wearing his “going out” shirt

you are in California
I see your best friend standing at the rooftop bar
she is wearing a backless dress
and it hangs off her beautifully
I guess, though, that she is not your best friend anymore

throughout the night I use the bathroom three times
the Dyson hand dryers kind of scare me
I watch two guys take a Vine of using them while making jokes
related to airplanes or something
and then loudly deem themselves “fucking hilarious”

later on
we are sitting on the edge of a sofa having one last drink
looking at the lights of the buildings and taxis
the New Jersey skyline
I see her again
the dress has slid down and I can see her black thong

she is laughing
and is checking her phone a lot
I look at her pretty and small features lit blue from beneath
and feel a quiet kind of sad