"Curiosity for Design" 

Sydney Compton, below

My curiosity for design began on a summer

road trip through New Mexico. For hours in the car,

I watched the sun rise and set over the desert – so

many versions of orange and brown. I remember

seeing houses tucked into the shade of a hillside;

whole towns melting into the mountains behind

them. …the round edges of the buildings matched

those of the landscape, and it all felt very calming

to me. Wooden door frames, scrubby brush – the

ceramic bowls set on windowsills – they all

seemed at peace. Why does a place, an object, an

openness, give me a sense of stillness inside? How

can a space change the way you feel? I believe

these are the questions that started it for me…

"Victus"

Eva Snaith

I captained my soul to sinking,

I’m but a servant to my fate.

The hurdles of life unshrinking,

I’ve been crushed by their untold weight.

I have abandoned my brave face,

With shame I wince and weep aloud. 

Pitch-dark shadows I embrace,

I surrender to Inferno, bowed.

No Virgil for a civil guide,

I’ve wandered through those darkened gates,

Lost my soul, without having died, 

And no Paradiso awaits.

I am undoubtedly afraid,

Bloodied, lost, and without control.

Reading words by Henley, I laid,

And craved an unconquerable soul.

"Love Poems to the Divine"

Failenn Aselta

Why are you constantly the answer to every question? 

To every pain I endure you land on my feet in perfect rapture 

it’s ironic I fiened your existence only a few months ago 

Now your the center of every reality I can fathom 

My savior in my darkest light 

The hope for the end of my plight 

Constantly I wonder where my salvation will be found 

through prose? animal? possibly form? 

will it be devoid of humanity? 

So while i wait for my answer 

i sit quietly 

awaiting your next call 

and writing love poems to you, God

"Stare"

Amberly Dawson

     Truly, I want to be seen.  

Not through a window, mirror 

The glass a barrier,  

a distance too far.  

Stare back at me fully and whole. 

From the window, climb. 

Meet me where I stand, 

face me. 

Turn away from the reflection that binds. 

Hand over the microscope, 

break the magnifying glass. 

Stop my skin from charring, 

free me from the skew of public eye. 

I tell you, look at me with naked eyes,  

notice I am only vessel to a familiar soul. Unveil the curtain, break the glass, 

grab my hand outstretched, entwine. 

Feel the warmth of differed skin, 

know my pulse as yours. 

In your mirror,  

find my face. 

 Stare back at me fully and whole.

"crossroads"

Mark Postovalov

we are

seeping through the city limits

in our fleeting skins, obscenely

carefree

(we are)

dipped in caffeine tiny capsules,

evicted out of sheer silence

riders

(we are)

boasting in wide-open jaws of

glory: “show us your ugly rows,”

howling,

(we are)

sticking noses in all cloned moss

coated modern corners – rippling

yearning,

(we are)

tarot reading oracles, by some

miracle breathing amphibians in

searching

for

one

palpable

morning