Community No. 48


Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker.  Her sonnets have stalked the pages of Anti-Heroin Chic, Moonchild Magazine, Occulum, Neologism Poetry, Rise Up Review, Faded Out, Paper and Ink Zine and many other publications.  Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available through  Follow her sonnets and socks on Twitter: @lolaandjolie.

Title: Sonnets
First Line(s):

Do you hear it — what is dead? Sibilance
in shrunken head. Asphyxiated, ice
cream truck, backmasked melodic Maypole dance
then self destruct. Sleepwalking sacrifice,

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Genre: Poetry
Publication Date: April 13, 2018
Journal: Luna Luna


Title: Broom
First Line(s):

They speak websites, ignore, in black and white,
brunette exsanguinated tv mute
receptacle you can’t unsee.  

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Genre: Poetry
Publication Date: July 30, 2018
Journal: Five2One



Recent work by Bruce Robinson appears or is forthcoming in MobiusDispatches from the Poetry WarsPanoply, and Pangyrus.

Title: Footwear

First Line(s):

that first perceptible
aperture on a sock,

the quiet depredation
of the heel, the way

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Genre: Poetry
Publication Date: November 2018
Journal: Journal of Compressed Creative Arts


Title: Super Moon
First Line(s):

Soon there will be beaujolais nouveau
parties, le beaujolais nouveau
est arrivé, at Bleu Provence (the
moon says so) and we will pair

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Genre: Poetry
Publication Date: October 2018
Journal: Indolent Books/What Rough Beast



Susan Rukeyser wrote “Ingrown Rage” for The Desert Split Open Mic, a radical, queer, feminist open mic she recently started in Joshua Tree, CA. She is the author of the novel, Not On Fire, Only Dying (Twisted Road Publications) and a chapbook of tiny stories, Swap / Meet (Space Cowboy Books). In 2018, she edited and published Feckless Cunt: A Feminist Anthology. Susan’s creative nonfiction work appears in numerous places including River Teeth, Mom Egg Review, Women Writers, Women’s Books, and Hippocampus Magazine, where she won their inaugural “Remember in November” contest.

Title: Ingrown Rage
First Line(s):

By twelve-years-old, my legs were too long. I was taller than the boys, so I slouched because girls should be small, I was told. Petite, waiflike, a pocket Venus, the girl shorter than the boy, even if she must bend her knees or wear flats when she wants to stilt-walk. In high school, the cutest, tiniest cheerleader was thrown into the air as if weightless, as if nothing, and oh how I wished I was small enough to be thrown around, how I wished to be less.

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Genre: Nonfiction
Publication Date: July 2019
Journal: Cliterature


Title: I Was a Pink Bath Bomb
First Line(s):

I was a hard, pink ball, meant for one use only. My job was to dissolve in hot water, into dyes and perfumes, oils and salts. I was called a bomb, but there’s no denying I was pretty.

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Genre: Fiction
Publication Date: April 2019
Journal: Mojave He[art] Review



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