Volume One, Issue 2

Poems by Dimitri A. Reyes

When Your Anxieties  Become People

                            the sounds of
kittens                                                         frighten me
i               have               slept               through               time
         the tiny men                    of my                     hopes
soggy                             under                          broken                                  levees
       line breaks                                                             soak the pages.

Tear             drops             burn             like             urine
        disintegrating                                                  telemarketing women
                            no messages delivered.
                                                       The                      contact us                      link
for                                   my                                         brain
                                                          no longer                             clickable.

Scaffoldings                                  of children
                            fizz                                                                into monsters
             drinking                            acid                     rain
melting metal,                             scalded                             panoramas.

An overflow of words come from Failure in its executive chair.

It says laughing,
                                                                 “Run with the big dogs?
                                                                   You still stand on two legs!”

He lifts his leg              drowns me in his piss.             and like his favorite hydrant

                             I                                                   take                                                                   it,

                                    gargling             urine             as             I             try             to             say             sorry.

Chained to Me, Machine

As a stove
I was told to practice
grounding techniques.
To inhale life and exhale
problems. Co2. Burn
some sage to crucify
negative energies
but everytime it
was set to fire
it wouldn’t burn
because my pilot
was out. I don’t
remember the last
time I was serviced.
I don’t remember my
name. Maytag, Kenmore.
Maybe broken. My scarf is
warmer in the absence of
an oven but the annoying
fuck keeps getting caught
in the range between gunky
knobs and handles. It makes
a web of what used to be
al dente spaghetti—   like
brains in a bowl during
a halloween party. I’m
not asking for a miracle,
for 7 chakras to be
aligned. Just a
solution to help
shimmy me
away from
this damn

Kick, Push

To skate like them.
Kick, push
kick, push.
Travelling ten bricks
per second. Carve
and pivot.
The transit police
says, There’s
no skatin’
here... They
kick, push
away to
the sounds
of a train whirring
by. Bags
chasing behind
the lightrail
resemble giant
rats that
kick, push
kick, push
along the rust-

Dimitri A. Reyes is a Puertorican poet born and raised in Newark, New Jersey where he is also a candidate at the Rutgers-Newark MFA program in poetry. He has been published in Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine, DryLandLit and others.

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