The (Magazine) Rack

by Keenan Schott

Sarah Jessica Parker
Airbrushed and photoshopped
Virtually unidentifiable

Cate Blanchett
“Standing on the brink of something exciting”
Holding an invisible cigarette that rests in an invisible cigarette holder

Janet Yellen
Stares thoughtfully into the distance
Old as shit

The self-importance of human beings
Is a funny thing
To me

Kate Gosselin
Slave driver
Giving the most furious thumbs up ever

Khloé Kardashian
Pregnant and showing
I don't know “who's the daddy”

Andi Eigenmann
Strong, fearless, and ready to face anything
In a lacy sports bra

The self-importance of human beings
Is a funny thing
To me

Joe Manganiello
Ruggedly handsome with salt and pepper stubble
Having trouble reading the board

Jane Seymour
Stiff as a stiffy
Hopes to inspire people with her 62 year old bikini body.

Nicole Richie
Anorexic Again
Walking on the grass instead of the sidewalk

The self-importance of human beings
Is a funny thing
To me

Kent Moyer
Modern Samurai?
More like modern comb over!

The self-importance of human beings
Is a funny thing
To me

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Two Poems

by Franklin K.R. Cline 

Yolo

Never have I ever had a MySpace
account; the stars are sagging towards cop cars
slinking along. Nothing to see
                                          here. Face it:
you owe more than you got to the bars
that don’t let you in any more, anyway.
Fuck it, pocket a 3 Musketeers from
the Kum & Go. They have it coming;
                                                     hey,
eat up. Yolo. So low. I think you’re dumb:
prove me right, hop online and post nudes all
night. Fuck it. Make rap music loud,
                                                      make mine
a triple, chug and puke and rally. Fall
is ending, the stars droop like leaves, divine
intervention intervening to the end.
Take all you can before this all is then.

So

So: winter, no further summer echo,
barely sun. So: inside, lost remotes, house
slippers, sweatpants. So: fake warmth, thickness. So:
false comfort, where’s the sky, where did my mouth
go oh here under the scarf, steamy drinks,
burnt lips. So: irascible, carols down
the block, little red and green lights make blinks
at our cold and tired eyes. So: around
the house we get quieter, and the meat
we started to cook gets forgotten, burnt.
So: smoke. So: fire. So: we could not eat,
that was all we had. So: hunger, we learnt
nothing. So: soon spring’s green splash across our
lawn, springing up from the snow. So now dour.

 

Franklin K.R. Cline’s work has been published in Beecher's, The Chariton Review,
Matter: A Journal of Political Poetry, and is forthcoming from B O D Y  and
Rabbit Catastrophe Review. He lives in Kalamazoo, MI, with his fiancee, author Rachel Kincaid.

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i hate everything except the things that i love / i love everything except the things that i hate

by alex wennerberg

call your friends i am alive, i am on instagram, my head is a soft head,
when i close my eyes you are semen-colored,
in psychology we read about classical conditioning tik tak we
read about classical conditioning,
in spite of myself you are beautiful,
i chew my nails you are offline because you do not exist you
are beautiful because i do not know beautiful things, how
do these systems work you are beautiful, no,
i am in a six room apartment if you count bathrooms, my desk has six quarters on it (new
mexico, texas, ohio, 3x eagle), my hands have, no, it is three a.m. there are six people on
facebook, one two three one two three four five six one two three one two three four five six you
are not online on facebook you are beautiful
i do not know what to say, my fingernails are the republican party, no,
my eyes strike a tiny puddle, the snow is melted, i see in it a small tree, you are a small tree you
are beautiful the tree has no leaves it is winter
you are above my head an airplane, you are a steak knife cutting the snow-melting silent sky,
you are something i forgot, my head is a soft kitten
i draw you on a post it note, the post it note is blank, i think it is good

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To Scale

by Tyler Meier

The whippoorwills invented you. 
That summer, there was a careful measure
of muddy river that you pulled like a leash through the lowlands,
like you and the country were a dog.
That summer, someone twisted all the maples
in their sockets.  You renamed the season
studio apartment and made it part of your big city.
I drove my name through it like a bus.
What is not a passenger?  What is the penalty
when the rent is due on what you believe in,
and you stuff the mailbox full of lilies?

Night is the biggest animal I know.

Night says Let’s use this cornfield
as a mission statement.  Night says
Here’s a little starlight, ground lovers.

You write your name over and over
in the sky that is a crypt full of pain,
that is a technical history of almost
anything.  Sap-Moon the soapbox we were never
not on. Sap-Moon like a song we sing
to the windows in our houses. 
What a pocket does to the spirit:
memorizes it
in the language of stowaways.  All summer you said:
Tell me this is a big country 

I gave you a mason jar full of rain.
Here is your crystal ball, I said.
Tell me what will become of me

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'Head on Collision' by New Found Glory

by Keenan Schott

With a folded-over strip of gauze taped above my left clavicle
And a bruise the color of an overripe plum on my right man-titty
I lie in bed
Listlessly jerking off to a video of a drunk blonde girl in a
        whirlpool bathtub that is overflowing with an unreasonable amount of
        bubbles fucking another drunk blonde girl with a novelty-sized
        strap-on while a third drunk blonde girl, maroon panties askew,
        masturbates in a corner, giggling the whole time even though she was
        kindly asked not to by one of the other drunk blonde girls
Wishing that my car hadn't been totaled
On New Year's Eve
When I got into that head-on collision
With a well-rooted tree
While blackout drunk
Because the process of looking for a used car online is incredibly boring,
Especially since I'm not much of a “car guy.”

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