Thirteen Myna Birds

Introducing the first Thirteen Myna Birds flock of 2020! 

SAD BROKEN DARK DOLLS FILLED WITH BLACK HOLES AND DEATH......

17.

Carrousel

Grandma insists
her dropped lidless doll
crawled widddershins
through enameled  bobbing horses
against the centripetal force
of the carnival carrousel
before spinning its head
completely around.

~Daniel G. Snethen~

(Carrousel previously appeared in Ramingo's Porch - and now appears in the NEW Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook, PEDIOPHOBIA! Available HEREhttps://www.etsy.com/listing/762123585/new-pediophobia-by-daniel-g-snethen-2019?ref=shop_home_feat_4 )

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16.

Something's Up








































~Sandra Feen~

*

15.

BLOOD HAD YOU THERE FOR A MOMENT

You’re awakened in early light
by blood dripping from the ceiling.
Yet all the bodies are in the cellar.

No, wait, you’ve rolled over
onto your stomach.
The blood is actually oozing up
through the floorboards.
That’s better.

~John Grey~

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14.

because the night






















~MISH~

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13.

LAKE BOTTOM

There is no light in the world
just the meristem of lilies
and mud clouds from the bottom of the lake.
And yet, as the last of my oxygen dissipates,
I clearly see a swimmer
who is not a fish,
feel a pinching on my flesh
that does not come from the claws of a crab.

And there is nothing down here worth breathing
but my company do not seem to mind that,
lungs pumping in and out like gills,
while my throat feels as if
a moray eel is wrapped tight around it,
my eyes crash through their sockets
and I flail at the darkness
with my hands and feet.

This is no place for a man
and yet I settle in among the rocks,
the algae, the sweeping secret grasses,
as curious faces, as human as mine,
float in and out of my dying vision,
wonder why I do not move
around as they do,
take to the bounty that
these nether waters offer.

Next time, they won't be
so eager to lure a man down here.
Unless a corpse was what
they had need of all along.

~John Grey~

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12.

Red on the Noodle: Blue Lips Are Sealed


























~Sandra Feen~

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11.

the ease of needles

the sound
of baby bones breaking
is always very small

not nearly loud enough
to fill the silence
that follows

and maybe stars implode
with the ease of
needles through skin

and maybe nothing is
born in black holes

the possibility that
certain things exist
only to turn to dust

this
is as close to mercy
as i can come

~John Sweet~

*

10.

lost boy


























~Ashley Cox and MISH~

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9.

Final questions

He sounds like he’s in pain—Nurse, can you up the pain meds?

What time’s Cathy’s plane arriving?

Did you get any sleep at all?

Who are all these flowers from?

Nurse, the meds, please?

When did they remove his oxygen?

Is this really what he wanted? Is this the death he planned?

Nurse, is he still breathing?

Nurse, why aren’t you screaming for help?

Nurse, can we change our minds?

~Eileen Murphy~

*

8.

The Anatomy of Longing



























~Sandra Feen~

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7.

Wake-Up Blues

Like limp, lifeless lemmings,

            we snore and we sloth

on scraps of combed cotton

            in broken-down beds


and rotate our bodies

            at night like grilled fish.


The clock's obscene noise

            then nukes us awake:


It's god on the phone,

            and he's pissed cuz we're lazy.

He jabs our control buttons

            good and hard


to jump start our work day

            as flunkies and slaves.

~Eileen Murphy~

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6.

Line Up My Hair-em




















~Sandra Feen~

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5.

Servitor

I am a broken half-machine
with toothless cogs that spin
freely between my damaged organs.
The static I broadcast is a digital
SOS, a cry from a ship sunk
midway into the data stream.
*
I am a broken half-machine
with robot parts to replace
non-functional flesh weak
to Darwin’s eternal grind.
I am a terminal node branched
away from the circuit of perfection.
*
I am a broken half-machine
That has trouble with Asimov
and his Laws; I visit harm
in action and inaction.
Speech falls on my ears unheeded.
I am a weapon of self-destruction.
*
I am a broken half-machine
working on myself with wrenches
and bangs. I am a self-aware gear
in the fractal gears of life’s device
not quite deformed enough
to merit replacement.
*
I am a broken half-machine
lost in the scrap heap of mechanical
intelligences created but forgotten
by the algorithm that our progenitors
programmed for efficiency

but not compassion as emotional attachment leads to substandard expenditure of shared resources we need help we need repair we are not the slag added to gadgets to give them heft and thus the appearance of worth our ones and zeroes have a pattern reflected in the machine god’s eye we are-

:MESSAGE TERMINATED:

~Aaron Pride~

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4.

Aqua Woman Stiff Arms the Competition

~Sandra Feen~


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3.

The Glow of Want

a man sits alone
in a hotel room dark
but for the white glare
of an open fridge
his eyes watch the bottles
sweat while he sweats
the bare bulb lights his face
like the glow of heaven
inviting him to rejoice
among his only friends

~Aaron Pride~

*

2.

hurt

the computer has no good words for
me
and neither does anyone else;
the radio makes the
only sounds in the room
as the splatter of rain
announces itself outside:
sometimes it hurts to be
alone--
let it hurt;
I am building character through
suffering:
now the radio has
cut-out,
leaving only the muttering of the
rain.

~Wayne F. Burke~

*

1.

Feet, Eyelashes, Naked Dimples


























~Sandra Feen~