Punk Monk Press/Magazine

Voice sings through static  in the dark.  God forgive  me my body – jumbled chirping syllables.  One at a time. Heartbeat  crinkling in a sugarpacket.  Sand on beach.  I’m thankful.  No one  inside but you.  She asks what you want. Ministerial. Ocean  breeze through open  window. Flat stale wall.  What do I need?  More salt, more salt, more salt, amen. --James Croal Jackson

Sweet dreams are dripping down the back of my throat. I swallow (air). I die over and over again. Salt water sheets lower me down. I awake breathless, blue, wet as come. I was never innocent. -- Donna Dallas