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poet / writer / publisher / they
|| poet laureate of FEELING VERY UNCOMFORTABLE ||



'Grounded and Flightless (abridged)'
by Alexandria Lowther

More then likely the neighborhood is still
- dreaming
- anticipating

the birds chatter
nature’s alarm clock
disturbing the slumber of thousands
they mock the sleepers

taking flight from rooftop to rooftop
flying high and low,
living their lives on the wind’s roller coaster
higher and higher and higher
until they plunge to an untimely death
inches from the ground they swoop up
at the last moment
adrenaline pumping through their little veins
do they even have adrenaline?
if so, they’d be junkies
high on life

grounded and flightless
the herd of people
gather their coffee and newspapers
plug in their ipods, iphones, and radios
each one stumbling to wake up
is this still a dream?

each one is a collage of memories
strung together into unconsciousness
while the dreamer is wrenched, unwilling
to the lands of reality

work becomes a monotony
numbers chase spaces and dance across the page
taunting us,
we’re zombies - eating our own brains
on computer screens
“Can you hold? For just a minute”
the voice prattles into your ear
as you watch the clock
pass the minutes by as it

you’re on the phone - indefinitely,
just waiting
and waiting some more
the blaring classical music doesn’t help
and yet you still wait.

what are you waiting for?
it occurs to you
that THIS is your life,
you’re living in this exact moment,
and you’re spending it - Waiting?

you hang up the phone
even though you’ve been waiting for an hour
its done.
you’re not waiting, just existing.
and in that moment, where you existed
it suddenly all becomes clear
is the present moment.

as air fills your nostrils you can feel the weight
of it ALL drop off
it drops off you like leaves from a tree
swaying slowly and moving precariously through the air
until it lands gently on the ground

you’re free now,
as free as the birds
mocking those still grounded
you take a running start
and jump out the window

what co-workers will later describe as the most graceful
suicide attempt they’ve ever seen
you know this is not the end
because instead of plunging to your inevitable death
you sprout wings and lift up into the sky
high on life
adrenaline pumping through your little veins


Alexandria Lowther called us from Boston, MA.


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'The Lost Poem'
by Adam Grabowski

It was perfect. It was everything.

It was a one night stand between genius and concussion.

It was the final and best draft of an anticipated eulogy.

It was the profound epoch of the personal ad renaissance.

It was conceived in a half-dream and written down before it faded.

It was the only reason she went home with him.

It was an eviction notice from a humanist, bathroom wall literature, a perfectly understandable suicide note, the last testament of will.

It was a letter to the fucking editor.

It was guaranteed tenure.

It was to be the greatest speech ever given for an Academy Award for color correction.

It was the great American email.

It was the ratified constitution of a love triangle.

It was the combat journalism of family court.

It was the money ticket, the gravy train, the sweet life, the big payoff.

It had spunk, nerve, moxie, guts, horse-sense, get up and go; it picked up the pace.

It was punctuation kamikaze, a syntax bitch-slap, a stiff kick in the nouns.

It was going to save the orphanage, feed the hungry, forgive and forget, let bygones be bygones.

It was God’s own justification for all the shit he’s pulled.

It was everything. It was perfect and it probably still is,

it was just misplaced in the mail, washed in the jeans, lost in the move, or given away like all priceless gifts are,

or maybe it fell out of your pocket when you pulled out your keys and was left to drift into the storm drain, where it waits for you still,

lonely and floating, holding tightly with the other debris,

terrified of the coming flood.


Adam Grabowski called us from Holyoke, MA.


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omg adam <3


can’t believe we’re already more than halfway through the fall issue of voicemail poems!

so far we’ve had some badass pieces from Ayla Sullivan, Meghan Privitello, Austin Islam, Allison Truj, Mike Krutel, Zoe Dzunko, Kallie Falandays, Sean Patrick Mulroy, Elizabeth Foster, Mike Johnson, Shannon Hozinec, Kieran Collier, and Lo Poholek.

coming up next: Adam Grabowski, Alexandria Lowther, Spencer Garrison, Leyna Rynearson, Paul Matthew Maisano, Austin Givens, Charlie Manis, Dee Mac, Danielle Perry, and Steve Subrizi!!

you can get caught up on the issue in our playlist above!!!

White Male Unaware Of How Good He Has It, Tweets In Capslock To Get Back At People For Trying To Explain, Nothing Holy, Doomed, All Of Us

following all my friends getting married i have decided to propose to the Nauseous Sense of Dissatisfied Longing at the Core of My Being

sure it’s convenient & affordable but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t the strange chemical flavor that keeps you coming back everytime

*installs OSx yosemite*

*realizes it has the weird cartoony flat design iOS has*

no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

poem’s now titled: ‘5 ways of throwing something into the boston public garden swan pond, after that guy that wrote that blackbird thingy’

"I think cuteness and horror go hand and hand. Childhood is a time we idealize for its innocence but it is also the time when innocence is lost and horror is born. All cute objects have a horror embedded in them. I’m thinking of that Raggedy-Anne doll, Annabelle, who is in all those American horror movies. She is possessed. All the cute objects of capitalism are possessed, they contain the sadness and revenge of their own objectification. I’ve always said it’s wrong to objectify even objects, let alone people. Everything has an energy and a life and should be treated with respect."

from a Kate Durbin interview in Bullett

(via tracydimond)

(via kdecember)