11:58 pm, our lady of the broken cup – joshua espitia

our lady

Church lets in around midnight
Sunday heading into Monday
to the bells of clanging dishes
and music too loud coming from
open kitchens where high dropouts
laugh, yell, and sling runny eggs
for masses of people dying for
an opiate to soothe minds lingering
on things lost and opportunities
missed while they sit in red vinyl
booths lighted by window sign
promises that they’re welcome,
24/7, for the best food in town,
the flickering pink neon casting
cold halos around heads bowed
over black coffee praying that this
time they’ll get that job or win on
that scratch off ticket, or maybe
tonight he won’t be filthy drunk
looking for love or blood or both,
or she’ll walk through the front
door and sit down with him and
everything will be like it used to

They leave their offerings in wads
of ones folded around loose change
for white-shirted, chain-smoking
angels to carry home for the laundry

SBGS December

Joshua Espitia is a former managing editor of The Windward Review literary journal. He has received Texas Intercollegiate Press Association and Haas writing awards for his short fiction and has twice been a panelist at the People’s Poetry Festival. Currently he lives in Corpus Christi, Texas, where he writes bad comedy for the The Vent Daily and pays the bills as an ESL teacher.

Photo: Chris Liverani

winter horoscopes – brice maiurro

1 horoscope

sagittarius

Sagittarius

Your love life is in shambles this winter, Sagittarius. Having lost sight of the importance of your relationship, things will be a bit rocky but don’t fret. For ten thousand dollars, you can franchise a Taco Bell, and then immediately burn it down in a beautiful post-capitalistic display of your undying love for your nearest and dearest. Your lover, enamored by your passion and rationality, will come running back into your arms and peace will be restored in your romantic zones.

capricorn

Capricorn

We just really are starting to worry about you, Capricorn. The 100-piece puzzle was cool and the 1000-piece puzzle was a good challenge but now you’ve locked yourself in Toys-R-Us for the last sixty-three hours and have been shouting that you are the Banana King of the Taj Mahal and that you demand at least thirty percent more bananas. There’s more to life than bananas and puzzles, Capricorn. Please try and remember that.

aquarius

Aquarius

This winter, you will decide to travel to a warmer climate and book a trip to Australia. Unfortunately, Aquarius, your plane will fly right over the Bermuda Triangle and come crashing down, leaving you on a mystical island with bubblegum trees and locals that have oversized hands and terrible breath. Mistaking you for Glenn Close, the locals will worship you as a god and offer you truffles and a nice bed. You will graciously accept their offers but these good times can’t last forever, Aquarius. When the real Glenn Close arrives on the island, they will see you for the fraud you are and imprison you in a dungeon where your only form of entertainment and exercise will be a DVD of Power 90, and let me tell you from experience, Aquarius, Tony Horton is super charming at first, but he gets old pretty quickly.

pisces symbol

Pisces

I’m sorry to say, Pisces, you’re gonna get stuck in an elevator this winter.

That’s it. Just a long winter stuck inside an elevator. Sorry.

aries symbol

Aries

It is important to not be too vague, Aries. There are situations you will encounter where there are decisions to be made and you may need to make decisions, or not make decisions. Just remember, Aries. What is most important is that you look at things and say to yourself “why?” and “why not?” Remember what your teachers used to tell you. If things get confusing, you can always find refuge in those places where you best find refuge. You know what I mean.

taurus

Taurus

Be very aware of time this winter, Taurus. Specifically, Morris Day and the Time. Jungle Love may sound enticing at first, but it has some pretty vicious side effects. You will fall in love with a woman named Apollonia this fall and she will treat you like a Prince, but despite how beautiful things are at first, try to take it easy on the echoing vocals, or she may cast a wicked spell to turn you into a symbol.

gemini

Gemini

This winter is a time of adventure for you, Gemini. After being told you do a good Forrest Gump impression at a party, you will assemble a Gumpesque ensemble and buy a shrimp boat and head out into the great beyond with your cat Russell who you’ve renamed Bubba and you will see the world, by which I mean you will be arrested for not having your mariner’s license, but fear not, Gemini. You will make it safely to shore before the cops catch you and then you’d better run. Run, Forrest, run.

cancer

Cancer

This winter you will discover your hidden talent for business, Cancer, upon realizing that you can do quite well in the corporate world by saying “let’s table this discussion” at every opportunity to do so. Over the course of three months, you climb the ranks at your corporate job from lowly peon to CEO, simply through the magic of those four words “let’s table this discussion”. Your TEDtalk is the most viewed TEDtalk of all time and Oprah brings back her talk show just to interview you. Of course, it’s time for your Tom Cruise couch moment, and everyone knows it’s impossible to come back from a Tom Cruise couch moment.

leo

Leo

Your confidence is your strength, Leo, so have confidence in everything you do. When you wake up in the morning, say “I am confidently waking up!” When you brush your teeth, proclaim “I am confidently brushing my teeth!” When you are stuck in traffic on the way to your job at the car wash, let the people know “I am confidently stuck in traffic!” When your boss writes you up for being high on the job at the car wash, look him dead in his eyes and say “Doug, I am confidently signing this write up!” and when you get home to eat your Totino’s party pizza and watch Alf in your mom’s basement, do that with confidence too. Alf would want that for you, Leo.

virgo

Virgo

Your Achiles’ heel has always been your anxiety, Virgo, but if you can face your fears, then there is nothing that could possibly stop you. I know that we live in a post-capitalist society where it’s dog-eat-dog and almost the entirety of human experience has been swept up into a veil of fraudulence, but look at the bright side, Virgo. If you work hard, then you can be rich and miserable for a whole different set of reasons. There’s no reason to focus on this strange digital urban landscape we’ve created where humanity is a plastic straw that runs down the sewers to pollute the ocean in a never-ending cycle of destruction. Just remember, your life may be ending one minute at a time, but time is a human construct, it’s death that you really have to look out for.

libra

Libra

The world is your oyster, Libra. One sunny day, a man in a pink poncho and uggs will arrive on your doorstep and tell you that you’ve been selected in their random drawing and you’ve won a prize! Ten thousand dollars, either in the form of a giant check or direct deposited to your bank account. Literally all you have to do, Libra, is decide what form you want your ten thousand dollars in. You’ll sit for a minute weighing the benefits of both; you have always wanted one of those giant checks, but direct deposit would be so convenient. You make a pros and cons list while the man in the poncho waits patiently for you to decide. Time continues on. It’s Spring now and you’re certain you’ve almost decided how you want your ten thousand dollars presented to you. The poncho man grows week, having slept now on your porch for months, only feeding on what little flora and fauna he’s been able to gather from your front patio. You sleep on it and keep thinking. You’d hate to make the wrong decision. The poncho man grows weary and in time becomes just a skeleton in ugg boots on your front porch and then dust in the wind. A giant check would be nice, but when will you have time to go to the bank?

scorpio

Scorpio

This winter may be an emotional time for you, Scorpio, by which I mean you’re a little bit too sensitive this season, by which I mean you cried when your Hot Pockets © finished cooking in the microwave and proceeded to stitch yourself a Hot Pocket © – themed onesie and watch Youtube videos of Hot Pocket © commercials in chronological order, insistent on singing that little jingle every time. Take it easy this winter, Scorpio.

Image result for aquemini

Aquemini

It’s smooth smooth sailing for you, Aquemini, because cool cats like you never ever jump off the funky bus. Just keep your head high, your soul fly and tell the haters see you later, gator. You’re the King of Cool and fresh to death from your blue silk suit to your peppermint breath. Ain’t nobody dope as you, you’re cooler than the polar bear’s toe nails, oh hell yes.

Alright alright alright alright alright.

SBGS December

Brice Maiurro is the Editor-In-Chief of South Broadway Ghost Society. You can find him on Instagram at @maiurro.

Photo: Josh Rangel

three poems // ahja fox

matchstick

babe on a mission

BY AHJA FOX

I swallow matchsticks to prevent dumpster fires,
but they just keep on sparking
into next year.
Ma says the moon hides its face.
Men hide their skeletons.
How was I to know a strawman had a viper tongue?
I threw a glass jar full of pennies at his ex, told her
count your blessings ‘cause I’m too pretty to break your bitchface.
I keep my nails done. Glitter on my lashes.
I might rattle a few prison chains.
So what? I’m carving my name
into a New York, New York park bench.
Those jesus girls keep saying Christ loves us all,
and he does. That’s why I bring packs
of cigarettes to spiritual battles.
I know what they really want. Me on a shelf.
That can be arranged.
I have a poetry book coming out next Tuesday.

marginalia

BY AHJA FOX

XXX

canine teeth uprooted and worn on a choker

mom wonders why you can’t wear glitter like
the other girls

murk

Little girl promises to never speak
mommy’s name, cough up

crest colored plastic, yank
the heart out with it onto asphalt

to thaw and slip
around legs of next little girl

whose mommy bow tie
knots her hair on dinner plates

after 5 o’ clock. Sharp is the pencil
mommy puts in her hair

when she wants to see light
tease her black panties, limbs drawn

by hysterical laughter. She turns
her skin in red tipped hands, strums

her ribs Orphic Hymns, pinching
sheets of flesh around fingernails.

She has it bad, this condition:
her head drops to her feet,

her feet snap at the ankles, run
under little girl’s bed,

into little girl’s closet,
wherever little girl can wedge

talks with God
between floorboards.

Ahja Fox is a poet obsessed with bodies/ body parts (specifically the throat). She can be found around Denver reading at various events and open mics or co-hosting at Art of Storytelling. She publishes in online and print journals likeFive:2:One, Driftwood Press, Rhythm & Bones Press, Rigorous, Moonchild Magazine, Anti-Heroine Chic, SWWIM , and more. She has also recently been included in the 2018 Punch Drunk Anthology and YANYR Anthology. A Best of the Net and Pushcart nominee, follow her on Instagram or Twitter at aefoxx.

Photo: Yaoqi LAI

SBGS December

two poems – D.o.t.B.

guillotine

Guillotine

Revolution cut so bloody
chopping heads eyes wide
make that bourgeois die
what beauty to hear children cry
this rage broke your calm lie
you stabbed your neighbor in the eye
kill or be killed
church bell screaming
our holy great blade watches
forevermore

 

Hunger

Teeth gnashing spit splashing
desperation crashing
breaking brittle bones
sucking on stones.

they work hard to remove
the Great Feast from their minds
leave that horror story behind
but it happens again the same time
next year.

The ground too cold frozen
more solid than a shovel
no food left in the hubble
stomach screams no more grumble.

They eye the outsiders
light bright their fires
slash their tires
and make dinner.
try and pray away their inner sinner
the meat is good
the wine salt speckled
no evidence to hide
when it’s wrapped along your inside.

Next year there are no new neighbors
no one on the outside…
so they find babies flesh
tears tastes
softest and sweetest.

SBGS December

D.o.t.B. is a Godde that currently lives in the body of K.V. Dionne. Boulder artist, poet, and photographer, they are one of the founders behind Writer’s Block and are current editor in chief of Writer’s Block zines. You can read some of their work in Spit Poet and can look forward to a collaborative poetry book coming out soon. They have many Hawk friends and Crow songs to share! 

healing projected – ghost #11

mirror 11

Famous romance novelist Nicholas Sparks once wrote,
“The emotion that can break your heart
is sometimes the very one that heals it…”

As cliche as it sounds,

I no longer believe that falling in love is going to save us,
not from ourselves and not from the inevitable storm ahead.
The clouds have been gathering over head for months now,
I chose to act like the sun was always coming back out,

The very idea that the love we share is both destroying me
and keeping me alive is hedonistic at best.
I’m no weather man but it seems to be raining red flags now,

we’ve been dancing in the streets begging for more

I gain unconscious pleasure from the pain of losing you
over and over again to the flood,
being wounded has it’s perks, after all,
I looked much the same when you found me right?

We’re just a shitty love story turned scratched vinyl record,
we can’t stop pulling the plastic back beneath our fingers

to replay the ending,

supposedly well written fantasy either
ends in happily ever after or tragedy,
and this looks more like self fulfilling prophecy.

They never mentioned fairy tales going awry at the
drop of a dime and the distressed left in the dark forest
waiting for the half slain monster,
I…I mean the prince…to swallow her whole.

I’m not convinced this model of love is worth the river running
out from under my bedroom door, worth continuing to write about,
not convinced that there will ever be an emotional payout for chasing someone who makes their living on running away.

The emotion that was made to break my heart is
the inner conflict of selfish and selfless spinning
a whirlpool depression in my chest because no one
will never be able to love you well enough to
save you from your homegrown impending doom complex.

Lead me to where this tornado begins to heal me…

It is difficult to wield my impatience silently,
analyzing the way my body detoxes you out of me
pores and ducts compiling the poisons you left
for examination,
minerals inside to extract so that
I may not forget

mental stamina halted by the crucial processing
healing is cyclical and having anxiety can alter
it’s trajectory a little but this self served circle will be completed

disguising survival as self love for the sake of saving face
while i take a second tour of the stages of grief in no
particular order, reliving my traumas like movie trailers
saved them for a dreary day such as this,

seek therapy as if I still believe someone out there has
the answers, get wasted once in a while and remember
why hopelessness is dangerous,

Can only see it when I’m bruised and
buried under it.

I find myself inspired by my loneliness,
supported only by my poetry,

ugly crying when I wake up in the same bad dream
can’t let the paranoias get the best of me, I am
letting go of what used to be
in one massive energetic release,

my aching body hoarding feelings
because that is how it is used to gaining control,

not this time, I am obsessing over my delusions
trying desperately to make them real, not this time

Naivety can in fact be cured but
using another human to witness your own healing
is a manipulation with no antidote hiding inside,
the results come out incoherent anyway

You have been alive 99 days longer than I have
With that extra time I expect you to be 99 days wiser
than I am, expect you to value your time a little more

But we all work at our own pace
and I’ve seen you pace a lot of circles into the floor
there are probably more in your future

I hope they look so much like break dancing
you throw windmills to settle the score with yourself
hope you find your answers in the flow

and start asking harder questions

The things you love the most in
the world can still be hard work,
in fact maybe they should be

Someday we will both get better at
paving our own way so that the labor
feels more like playing with your best friend

Until then we keep pulling each other’s hair out
strand by strand and catching fingers in every slammed door
this love is not the safety net that we planned for

I lose my balance every other step now

We have been crawling in and out of each other for
250 days without truly ceasing, what a polluted
cesspool of love we created to keep feeding each other our lies.

Are you still hungry? I could have just one more bite.
Spoon feed me all the reasons the wounds are still open.
Give it to me straight, what is the diagnosis?

Will the PTSD control the remainder of me
that you have not claimed as marionette parts?

We have not been on the same page since you
started skipping ahead to see whats next,
and ripping out chapters at random.

What would a romance novelist do to
heal them self from the inevitable?

Are we really just waiting around
for the dawn of the next cycle,
the point where the familiar emotion
fills us up with enough smoke and
to send out another beacon of hope?

SBGS December

photo: Noah Buscher

the postcard – the ghost of esperanza

IMG_1464

I bought this postcard that reminds me of us.”
A Franz Kline, black against white
Lines spread across the canvass
Chaotic and untamed like me.
A “V” stands firm off-center.
It’s right held up by another reclining line
The black mess underneath make those two lines
look like an “A” and an upside down heart.

I miss the first night I heard your voice.

Once, we talked on the patio of a bar until 6AM
about love, Nixon, and family.
We sat between the picnic tables on astro turf
and my ass went numb.
A little after,
I got you to show me your tattoo
despite all resignation.

We drank and drank until two packs of cigarettes were gone.

I could live in that night.

I could live in you asking me to only speak Spanish to you.

I am drunk in lust for moments well past their expiration date.

If you look at the postcard closer,
the upside down heart looks like a man on his knees
reclined against a wall.
Faceless–
black strokes
blending him into the background.

I melted under the weight of past memories.

All the bad came flooding in after I found a swastika in the elevator of our office.
I was alone and I was scared.
I choked on tears for hours unable to breathe.
Finally, I called you.
You asked all the wrong questions until you asked me what I needed.
I muttered my need.
You couldn’t hear me and asked again.
I said “sorry” and hung up.
I turned off my phone.

I don’t know how to trust.

Despite two months of closeness,
I couldn’t tell you that one time a rich man stole from me.
He wined and dined me
and I liked that he spent more money on me than what I paid in rent my Senior year of college.
I liked it until I woke up naked and bruised
all over with no memories after only 3 drinks.
I couldn’t tell you that this is what I think of with our President-elect.
I didn’t want the story to pour out of me that day.
I was scared if I’d have to hate you
if you ended up being someone who would say something stupid
like having “to know better.”

The woman on the train
said the postcard looks like structure.
She said it was beautiful
Like the black strokes beneath the “V”
were pieces to rebuild with.
She had a warm smile and kind eyes.

We hugged after Vegas.
I drove to San Diego
You called and called me with every mishap before you could get to Los Angeles
The thick of your voice kept me up on the lonesome road as I tried to forget foolish things
Like making you pinkie promise to lean on me the first night we met.
To never work against each other.
You told me to not doubt myself.
We planned to see New Orleans

This postcard reminds me of us.

In Los Angeles, when I called myself a Chicago 9 and a California 7
You corrected me and told me not to be so hard on myself
You ranked me a 9 in California.

We missed being able to smoke inside like we did in Las Vegas.

I asked you if I could stay the night
We played chess and drank whiskey

Infatuation and lust resurface.

The black lines at the top of the postcard show more focus.
The strokes uneven in pressure
Yet firm in direction.

This postcard reminds me of you.

You would not let it happen.
My lips on your shoulder and my fingers entwined in your chest hair
You said “We shouldn’t do it.”
I pressed my lips to your neck and asked, “Why?”

There was no caution there.
You did not waver.

The black strokes at the bottom of the postcard jut out in every direction.
The strokes are aimless and collide into each other
Some stop mid-thought

This postcard reminds me of me.

We slept.
I could not breathe with your hands on me.
I turned away from you.

The white of the upside down heart covers some black.
It tries to cover up mistakes.
The white looks grayer on the right hand side.

This postcard is me.

We didn’t talk about what happened.
I puked two times and you told me I could find grape juice in the fridge.

We never talk about what happens.

We rode to IHOP and every bump made me more nauseous.

The firm strokes at the top are focused,
but not anymore kempt than the rest
They miss filling in spots
They change direction back before they can reach the end of the canvass.

This postcard is you

I can’t remember what we talked about in IHOP
I remember puking a third time and finally feeling like I could eat.
You said I was smiling again so it must have been a good sign.

Outside you told me the lipstick from last night was cracked into my lips and looked terrible.

The white of the canvass isn’t pristine
Shades of gray compliment the strokes
It takes up more space without imposing
The color is dull without the strokes taking up space.

You asked what you could do to be better.

I don’t have an answer for our friendship.

The postcard is brush strokes and pressure
It is hesitation and redirection.
It is structure
And it is impetuous.

I have this postcard for you.

I bought the same one for me.

-The Ghost of Esperanza

SBGS December

Photo: @maiurro

in that pit – megan heise

pic 5e - Edited

on grief. you. can’t look. at his. face. in pictures. avert. your.
eyes. quick. you wait. to teeter. over the. edge. into. oblivion.
obsession. remember. he said. it’s okay. he said. to be evil.

 

 

 

mirror. your old face. no. you don’t. see. his. face. except in.
dreams. blame it all. you think. on the caffeine. sconced.
lights. flicker. he tells you. no. soft. message. soft. received.

 

 

 

more. uh. lord. than pot. more. uh. night. than day. you
wonder. googling. medical. or medicinal. must. get. search
terms. right. gut genug. he says. good. enough. but. you
swear. you. are right. like. before. like. intrinsent. wasn’t real.

 

 

 

well. because. she’s not. the one. who’s dead. you say. maybe
if. you say. you read yours first. stack. on windowsill. mushu.
speaks. no. that. was someone. else. computers. you ask. try.
to remember. there must. you think. have been. computers.

 

 

 

latin. german. english. french. when you. came back. from
europe. you had. you say. a new. rule. you say. tens. on jacks.
a slap. ping. them. atic. sch. eme. sch. ism. sch. ool. sch. ade.

 

 

 

oh. no. that’s not. where it. ends. farm. cat. burn pile. field.
her. them. sand. sting. sex. on the beach. ice. in our teeth.

 

 

 

grasp. suck. pull. stuffed. scarecrows. suicide missions.
suicidal. king. charlemagne. trick. or treat. house. calls. car.
wrecks. ayn. fucking. rand. ponderous. tomes. wait. not that.

 

 

 

that letter. breasts. brushing. the food. collegiate. attire.
where. did you go. you don’t. re. ah. yes. head. member.
pounds. all that. yes. blood. her house. right. was haunted.

 

 

 

names. diaries. pink. brown. blue. but. you lost. you lament.
the old notebook. with. all the. poems. you say. about you.

 

 

 

snape. not like. you. gave. a shit. scale of. viggo. to alan.
grease. honor. lightning. you. must. have. been. in. that. pit.

 

pic 1h.jpg

SBGS December

Megan Heise is a writer, artist, and teacher, who lives in and is from the American rust belt. She has three plants: Lenny, a bunny ears cactus who lives in Greece; Louie, a bamboo shoot who loves to travel; and Wally, an aloe plant who is having a hard time adjusting to life “back home” after many adventures elsewhere. She curates the education and advocacy blog, Solidarity with Refugees.

Photography provided by Megan Heise as well.

 

chance the goldfish // alessandra ragusin

chance the goldfish

BY ALLESANDRA RAGUSIN
chance the goldfish

Alessandra is a queer feminist writer and philosopher. She enjoys the finer things in life: chowder, dogs, hooded sweatshirts, wandering on foot for hours on end, and talking in accents. She has a BA from MSU Denver in Creative Writing and Philosophy, has been published in the Metrosphere Arts and Literary Journal, and has been featured on the Denver Orbit podcast. Find more of her work at www.greenworldwriting.com

Photo: Zhengtao Tang

the last time i was awake at this hour – D.o.t.B.

window

The last time I was awake at this hour
You were in my bed
These sheets still smell like you
We both know why I haven’t washed them.

There’s a ghost in my car with his hand on my thigh
Looking away from the road into his eyes
He’s gone before I can kiss him
There is no ritual to rid me of this.

One horrible comfort in all of this mess
Is that there is a spectre on your skin too
They have my hands on your back
My mouth to whisper sweetness in your neck
And eyes that haunt you like mine do.

sbgs cowskull

D.o.t.B. is a Godde that currently lives in the body of K.V. Dionne. Boulder artist, poet, and photographer, they are one of the founders behind Writer’s Block and are current editor in chief of Writer’s Block zines. You can read some of their work in Spit Poet and can look forward to a collaborative poetry book coming out soon. They have many Hawk friends and Crow songs to share! Instagram: @o.macbeth