Other moms
Wear infinity scarves
Over argyle sweaters
And smile when their children
Misbehave,
As if to say,
“Kids will be kids.
My Tommy’s not to blame.
Grow a thicker skin.”

Did you wager
She could take it
All in
Without short-circuiting?
Did you presume
Fairy rings
Manifested
In crop circles?
Did you think
Little green men
Would shine spotlights
Before casting a net?
Guess again.

Beyond the boneyards,
Our corpses procreate.
Tattered flesh unwinds;
Slinks inside —
Thrumming strings,
Strumming time.
You want to place
Your hand in mine.

Come inside.

Where sinews graze the light,
Branches entangle
Between branded limbs.
Passionate impulse
Quickens the pulse.

Dream deep, little firefly.
Distant stars climbed to collapse;
Our memories burned for naught.

Modulating machines
Mechanize madness.
Mellifluous meddling
Morphs minds.
Melded material
Manifests memories.
Magniloquent musings
Martyr murderers.
Moribund messages
Misappropriate malignancy.
Merged magic
Makes monsters.

All the chaos encircles my neck
Like shackles they drag me
Down to his level
And hold me drowning underwater

A new day arises,
Laundered with the laudanum
Of lavender lethargy.
Selective memory
Simplifies sundry pleasures.

Call me out.

For all the times
I refused to believe you,
Punish me
With bruising kisses.

If this isn’t love
Your colorist’s inferno
Seeking cool waters

Searchlights speckle a night sky devoid of excess stars, both literal and figurative. Jittery jive-fingers strum strings, slap bare feet like tambourines. Tipsy tongue gently butchers lyrics that could slide into accuracy with more frequency. The cover artist doesn’t try to emulate the great singers of the past fifty years, but he does a muddled, […]

Here lies Love in the present.

Do not enter this derelict construction site, a haunted hallway cluttered with the latest gadgets designed to improve the quality of life by purifying noxious air particles, and masking frayed connections.

How’s about a vein to suck
before the IV’d hag collapses?
Didn’t even get to pop the question, or bubble-wrap pre-packaged flesh yet.

“Safe” extended hand —
Ha! You’ll just trip me again,
Ad infinitum.

I did what I was told,
Not what I should do;
And the wind breathed fire
Into the void of my choices.

I like it slow,
wet,
hard,
deep;
an ache to arouse
blue buds
that never bloomed.

Tear down the silkscreen
behind the tapestries
of suburban suspicion
surrender to
the ratatouille
of culture clash

I used to travel her route on afterschool afternoons. They have since incorporated Helena’s Way into a construction site. Intentional or otherwise, now I scan the sidewalks from the car window, eager for a glimpse of her. There she goes, I would say. The one who won’t let me go. I have forgiven you thousand-crane […]

Hearts beat
love we made
to fill our mason jar
of hand-sealed dreams.

Whimsy merges with melancholy to evoke the spectrum of conflicting emotions, as explored through Bee Queen’s artworks: dark-themed tableaux reflecting glimmers of love-light through a painted lens of hope.