I wish I’d filled the car with gas I wish I’d had a piss I wish I’d grabbed some coffee at a place that was well lit I’m rolling through the swamplands And there all these signs for Trump I thank the lord my little girl’s Too young to know what’s up I sure don’t want no trouble Or bad shit to go down So I’m following the speed limits Through these small Florida towns
I’ve got miles left to go But I keep my speed in check I’m coming to complete stops When I make a right on red My plates say New York State You can see them from miles off I cross my fingers and say a prayer Every time I pass a cop I know they think I’m just Some sort of Northern hippie clown So I’m following the speed limits Through these small Florida towns
Bugs splat my windshield And I check my mirror often I blast Tom Petty so they know We’ve got one thing in common I wish I could hit the gas I wish I could put some space Leave behind these gun shows And be miles from this place I’m not sure what these people want But it ain’t having me around So I’m following the speed limit Through these small Florida towns
Yes, I’m following the speed limit Through these small Florida towns
The World’s Most Profitable Prison
In the world’s most profitable prison The men have lost their souls But they’ve keep their arms and legs They’ve kept their backs and bones And they still have all their muscles And they’re held together by skin And they live the length of their lives In the world’s most profitable prison
In the world’s most profitable prison The men are guarded by guns And they work from dusk till dark As they move to beat of a slave drum Their food is mixed with sawdust And they’re always razor thin And there’s never an empty prison cell In the world’s most profitable prison
Margaret Viboolsittiseri (aka Maggs Vibo) works in print, broadcast, special events, glitch media, and online. She is a contributor for Poem Atlas and has experimental art in the winnow magazine, Coven Poetry, Ice Floe Press, The Babel Tower Notice Board, ang(st), The Wombwell Rainbow. Recent anthologies include Poem Atlas ‘aww-struck’, Steel Incisors, Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 (January, 2021) and ‘My teeth don’t chew on shrapnel’: an anthology of poetry by military veterans (Oxford Brookes, 2020). She tweets @maggsvibo and her website is poemythology.com.
Bio: David L O’Nan is a poet/writer/editor living in Western Kentucky. He is the editor along with his wife HilLesha for the Fevers of the Mind Poetry Digest and has also edited and curated the Avalanches in Poetry: Writings and Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen. He has self-published works under the Fevers of the Mind Press including The Cartoon Diaries (2019) & New Disease Streets (2020) Taking Pictures in the Dark (2021) Lost Reflections (2021) & Our Fears in Tunnels (2021) The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers (2018) David has had work published in Icefloe Press, Rhythm N Bones Press off-shoot Dark Marrow, Truly U, 3 Moon Magazine, Elephants Never, Royal Rose Magazine, Spillwords, Anti-Heroin Chic, Nymphs Publishing, Voices for the Cure an ALS Anthology, Ghost City Press, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. Books available on Amazon including the most recent Anthology Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 Deluxe Edition paperback & kindle. Split editions are available of this book as well. Twitter is @DavidLONan1 and @feversof for Fevers of the Mind and on Facebook at DavidLONan1
Hillesha O’Nan is a blogger, writer, photographer & marketer. She is co-editor/founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art. She runs the blog tothemotherhood.com for over 15 years
To the blind, we must feel so wild Running through the fires to the thrill, We must be so nauseating We’ve built cradles and thrones With all the muscles melting, And all those broken bones.
The fading spirits escape the night, The bonfires charring the riverbanks- Leaving the grass to be tart and ash. The thundering in distances, – Are not for our freedom- It is more of a call, To the death of it.
We can only hunt for the hearts for so long. The hearts are the monsters. And defiant to love, And the blood swims in jealousies.
To be blessed by adventure, To be cursed by the threatening. And we are talking about all the beauties. The supreme and goodbyes in the rain Erect lightning rips apart our skeletons- When the fire became a broiler. Within, Our motion is muted. Vision now evades us.
The full moon becomes our religion Watch the fold in the clouds, that is us And if they shall search for us Amongst our secret headquarters Cuddled together sharing Egg Biryani What are those stars, trapped behind obese trees?
The wind blows at our tent, our lockdown Trying to infiltrate our codes To steal away our dance And leave our footprints to be discovered by the gods. The river wants us too – It sways in a vulgar ballet Then dies off against the dam.
Your scarf and dress left in a ruinous insult in the mud Left to be panicky, dizzy, separated, and severed alone – In the grass. How can I relocate our flames? To dwell in the hum of purring Collect our wings from the cheap magician And terminate the spell.
A grandiose full moon smothers With its clouds Even after promising heaven behind the dark curtains – That was us.