c o n v e r g e n c e:
an online journal of poetry & art


THE OLD WITH THE NEW by Stephanie Lakos

THE OLD WITH THE NEW by Stephanie Lakos

by Michael Lee Johnson

Everything is red
in the kingdom of the queen.
Matador hat with barnacles,
witch white hair to the shoulders,
tickling the breast.
In her eyes are the blood shot
of many vampires;
in her heart the daggers
of many soldiers.
Five inky fingers
cross her throat
like an ill-fitted necklace.
Her dress is like heart charms,
scales of fish dripping
blood toward her toes.
Withy, twists around her throat.
Anglers of the court toss hooks
toward her cherry red lips,
capture the moment
of the haze of purple
surrounding her head.
Everything is red
in the kingdom of the queen.
Death changes colors from red to blue.

BAT MAN  by Ruben Briseno Reveles

BAT MAN by Ruben Briseno Reveles

by Thomas Piekarski

Banshees bubble from the roof of my mouth,
bloodless banshees.
They squabble to high heaven
forgotten in tenuous excrement
of lost events.

Mortally absorbed
by incremental death
no sense fretting that I'm twisted
outside in.

My principal occupation capturing meaning
of black monoliths that block
supernatural orgasms within which
imbedded impressions I'm shredded
like yesterday's confetti.

Fait accompli: humanoids luxuriate
in brimming ambient light,
wade the Alpine lake while
flaky snow sprinkles them.

I'm sidetracked gathering burnt starbirds,
giving salutations, and working on
exoneration from onerous charges
issued by invisible false witnesses.
Doomed to ultimate futility
are icons, Gods, monarchs,
synthetic prosecutors, proselytizers
and puerile opponents with souls frozen
irretrievably in the annals of crime.

They fail to take root
in this inexorable mystical communion
that we collectively strum
like a blue guitar
under the big blood moon.

WELCOME TO THE DARKNESS  by Ruben Briseno Reveles

WELCOME TO THE DARKNESS by Ruben Briseno Reveles

by Viola Weinberg

A black velveteen river of tarantulas
coming down El Valle Grande, one
after another, the road eclipsed
cracking on our tires like eggs

Flying up the vents and smacking
the little metal doors, dear God
They were on the march and we
were in their way, as they tumbled

Creeping, a mob on the dark road
in a column on the asphalt as we
migrated bravely against the black tide
Crunch on drang, a bad dream with

The foil of little freaky creatures
their insect fur and all their bright eyes
rimmed in brash sun, headed south
with their egg sacs and twitching limbs

Like Scorsese's eyebrows jumping at an idea
treacherous, disturbing, stomach-turning
We stubbornly drove against the grotesque
as they whirled, wheels of hairy little, tiny legs

Click-clacking against the windshield
and bumpers, the headlights and truck bed
We shouldered on, became angry, we sped
for 15 minutes in shivering tarnation until

We passed out of the storm, the sandy road ahead
clean as a beach, and we were quieted, but
even now, just the thought of it, the madness of it
will possess a stray hair to tickle us to death

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