Justin Lacour

Thursday, 12:20 p.m.

Tug is listening to music at his desk.

“What’s that instrument that sounds

like a washing machine?” asks Claire.

Tug says “That’s what we in the industry

call a ‘drum,’ Claire.”

A single eyelash falls from my face,

into my yogurt cup.

A redbird taps its head against the window.

Saturday, 2:22 p.m.

I’m deep in the forest right now.

I have no time to listen

to grown men argue

whether Bib Fortuna

survived Jedi or not.

I want the forest in this poem

to function like the forest

in Shakespeare comedies:

A place of working things out,

unencumbered by social constraints.

But I may have learned that wrong.

Thursday, 3:25 p.m.

No one talks about Jane’s Addiction anymore.

Their admixture of heart and decadence.

They seemed so important at the time.

I wish a machine would take me back.

Spring is here with its dampness

and smell of shit.

A guy balancing on a skateboard

with an armful of flowers.

Justin Lacour

Justin Lacour lives in New Orleans and edits Trampoline: A Journal of Poetry. He is the author of the chapbook My Heart is Shaped Like a Bed: 46 Sonnets (Fjords 2022).

Larena Nellies-Ortiz

Cold Feet

Larena Nellies-Ortiz

Larena Nellies-Ortiz is a photographer, educator and poet living in Los Angeles. Her photos have been featured in Barren Magazine and her poetry in the Eunoia Review. With an academic background in Migration Studies, Larena is passionate about visual storytelling at the intersection of belonging, displacement, and cultural capital. You can find her on Instagram @lalifish and @lalifishwrites and her photography at www.larenaortiz.com.

Listed at Duotrope
Listed with Poets & Writers
CLMP Member
List with Art Deadline
Follow us on MagCloud