Jamez Terry: Beyond Answers

Last night we took off the faces

that we wear from 9 to 5

(then 5 to 9 and back again)

We put on a wild abandon

a recklessness that we’ve hidden for much too long

(cuz somehow the everyday 1 2 3

just keeps on counting (4 5 6)

and we run out of time to dance)

But this time we forgot our arithmetic

and when 1 and 1 were added

there were infinite possibilities

We slipped beyond answers

past logical conclusions

and you whispered, ‘mmm, consume me’

Last night with our secret skins exposed

we counted backwards (5 4 3)

until there was nothing left

to separate us

I rolled you over (and over and over)

pressing you down with heat

not measured on thermometers

I wasn’t lying passive beneath your flames

cuz I come under fire enough every day

and here I just wanted to burn

Your breath came quick, sharp

now     and now     and now

I drew back to watch you want me

and you waited (2 seconds, 3, 4)

with eyes that said, ‘consume me’

Last night as the hours rolled by uncounted

(10 o’clock, 11, midnight)

we melted together and I was trying

to memorise this formula

(this face, this feeling, this skin –

what are the other factors?)

Then I realized that

we’ve had enough numbered days

slowly subtracting bits of ourselves

So I unplugged the alarm clock

let the phone ring

(once, twice, answering machine)

The world can count our absence

while I find infinite ways to consume you

Jamez Terry is a queer and trans poet, novelist, zinester, parent, chaplain, and rabble-rouser.  His poetry has mostly been published in DIY zines and spit from stages across North America.  His debut romance novel is forthcoming from Generous Press.  He lives in Alaska.

J.K. Durick: Citizen Speaks Up

When does it all stop working

Against us? Something else

Goes wrong, and we’ve learned

To adjust to whatever it is. Then

There’s the weather, of course.

Then the news, international

National, regional, down the line

To local. Look out the window.

It’s there, a sinister look on its

Face, its hands grabbing for and

Begging, never letting up, whine

Whimper, sneer, snicker, sniff

And snort. We listen, we adjust

We want to solve, but solutions

Are far beyond us. We’ve become

Observers, innocents bystanders

Ignorant bystanders, bland back-

Ground to it all. It goes wrong and

We ride it out, somehow live with

It as it gets worse and worse. We

Trip and stumble. We drip and

Mumble and bumble. We have

Learned all that the twenty-first

Century has to teach us – ideal

Citizens of this terrible world!

J.K. Durick is a retired writing and literature teacher. His recent poems appeared in Synchronized Chaos, Literary Yard, Highland Park Poetry, and Poesy Place. 

DS Maolalai: Horizonless, occasional cities

a flight over Europe. west

in from Asia. and night

through some time zone –

I can't manage mapping the latitudes.

to me 2pm, but outside is all black

as a Liffey's thick riverwater

pushing past storm drains,

cloudless and horizonless, occasional cities

in the distance which shine

upon round cabin windows like poured molten

gold over ants. there's something, being sealed

in and 6km upward. perspective goes foggy. some passengers

sleeping, some restless and watching tvs. no-one looks

happy and no-one's good looking

in the dentistish light of no

smoking signs, plug in your

belt signs. the stewardess walks

like a fox between dustbins, up and down

cabin aisles, vigilant and cautious – handing out wine

in plastic cups, sickbags and pillows and earplugs.

DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as "a cosmopolitan poet" and another as "prolific, bordering on incontinent". His work has been nominated fourteen times for BOTN, eleven for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and released in three collections, most recently “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022)