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Author: Gina M.

I Don’t Miss the Birds
I’m so sober,
I miss talking to the 4 a.m. moon.
The way she’d respond in phases.
The way she rose no matter the places I gravitated.
I’m so sober.
I used to be awake for days and now I’m asleep before eight.
I’m so sober.
When I see cirrus clouds in the sky, my thoughts don’t go straight to lines of cocaine.
I’m so sober.
I used to maintain my high,
Now I maintain life.
Now I don’t look down on myself.
I don’t look down into mirrors.
I keep my head held high.
I’m not high.
I meet my reflection straight on.
I’m so sober.
I don’t roll bills into straws; my money would unravel like lockets of curls.
I don’t stumble from stalls with powder in balls in my pockets.
I’m so sober my bills stay straight in my wallet.
I’m so sober.
My phone barely rings.
It used to sing with the needs of all the people wanting all the shit that I used to have.
I’m so sober I snapchat my actual cat.
I’m so sober.
I preach meditation. I preach self-care. I preach coincidence.
Now my phone never dings because people don’t care what I have now that I’m sober.
I’m sober.
I’m so sober.
Since I’m sober, I don’t deal.
I’m too real for some people.
Since I’m sober, I don’t miss most people.
I kiss less people.
I miss the moon, but I don’t miss the feeling when the sun takes over and I still haven’t slept.
I don’t miss the way my heart used to pound in my chest.
I don’t miss the birds chirping the melody of my utter lack of self-respect.
I’m so sober I don’t miss.
I don’t miss birthdays. Or alarms.
I don’t miss milestones. Or opportunities.
Now that I’m sober, I don’t miss my family.
Now that I’m sober, we talk all the time.
I’m so sober I don’t miss the sun in the sky.
I’m so sober,
I don’t miss the birds.

Author: Gina M. I Don’t Miss the Birds I’m

Author: Justin A. Curmi

I: A Cheap Flight 

Floral containing sandwich-ziploc bag

of parched mind-altering substance; urging 

to be inhaled through an inferno drag      

while sitting on a ship — slowly merging  

two hemispheres into one entity.

A Maui Wowie soothing getaway

for a solid-liquid identity;

meanwhile, lungs produce a stormy airway. 

A pauper enriching vacation far  

from life of modern civilization 

on an illusionary lush sandbar         

as dulcet ukulele elation

strums harmoniously throughout the room,     

long-temporary stay in the back room.  

II: Raucous and Lively Fireworks of Om

Two mil bag zip with glaring Megatron

that transforms dry dance floors to a shower

more kaleidoscopic than dingy Tron;

a midsummer fantasy with power,

and a tangible orchestra of beats.

All waiting on an eager ingestion, 

which forces the palate to urge for sweets

without imposing and halting questions. 

There in the grove of sensual bodies

I heard Dionysus’ warning to man,

yet the bright raining light disembodies 

form from trivialities of madman       

who greedily plays courtship and money;

however, unworthy in Bliss Honey.           

III: A’ Picking We Go  

In the Artistic Muse Athenaeum

earthly categorized shelves line the walls

as thirsty eyes survey the museum

while merrymakers pass the narrow halls 

to embark on autumn explorations 

towards streams of Lethe the forgetful,

which circulates throughout every nation

causing nights of Bacchus the regretful. 

However, in grand vantablack blunders

the expansive void lulls confused spirits

of the: rainmakers, shamans, and hunters,

from harsh daily granulating physics     

of distant computerized industry     

who quickly minimizes dignity.  

IV: Wintery Fairyland

Godlike snowballs waiting in gleeful hands  

as noses jingle to the frosty touch

that will introduce them to godly lands

while waiting around sets of tight clutches   

during radiant sounds thumbing the door,  

and aphrodisiac thoughts twirl and whirl

throughout the new Victorian decor,

which invokes a lofty opulent pearl.

A succulent taste of Nietzsche’s Table,

Marx’s Owners of Creative Creation, 

Age of Enlightenment’s changing playbill, 

or the pinnacle of Pluto’s stations  

where avaricious false deities dwell

as well as numb vermilion noses swell.        

Author: Justin A. Curmi I: A Cheap Flight  Floral