To the Coming Cold

As the season stained in leavesbegins to yell through feral winds,I watch the petals fall, each tingedin kisses of decay;like the greying of agetheir colors begin to fade.Reds soften to pinks like the flush of flesh,purples dull like grapes left rotting on the...

Somewhere in Between

Preston Smith “‘Cause I know I’m a sinner, but I could be a saint in your head.No, I don’t got religion, but I’ll tip my hat to the dead.”—VÉRITÉ, “Saint” If I knew how to be alone, I woulddeconstruct the fairy tales of my mindand live somewhere in betweenthe fabrics...

No One Has Been Here Before

The air buzzes without echoRed grass scrapes our shoulders and saddle bagsBehind us unseen swarm men with guns and rotten teethWhispering our sin through cracked lips.No one has been here beforeWe steer a wide berth around buildings silhouettedLike thorns among...

I Would Wreck Your Ship

shame keeps me warm at nightburns bright in my bonesburnished to a glow bywincing ruminations about yougutted with the loss ofwhat could have beengrateful the door neveropened widerto let in more welted regretlivid on my skinhurricaned with wounds thatlast foreverwhat...

Ecdysis

regretbecomes a guest that never leaveswaking side by sideeach day we trudge in unisonentwined among my veinsand chiralityit tugs me this way and thatkeeping me carefuland safeand wishingI could unwind its bittered pithfrom my skin, peelit away from each limband...

In September

when the borders between usare more jasmine than fence,more mistake than betrayal,I will cross the dew-wet streetwithout looking, you’ll seemore optimist than woman. Samantha Johnson (she/her) is a poet in Melbourne, working on her debut collection.  Her work...