By Lael Lopez
​
*Editors' Note: This poem first appeared in Down in the Dirt. 

This angel fell
She lost her light
Trudging through the gates of hell
She gave up the fight

By Helen Sánchez-Stoddard

Artist's note: 35mm black & white film shot in Lago de Coatepeque and San Salvador, El Salvador.

By Mary Shanley

​Oblivion is by far the easier,
lazier way of life, moving through 
genetically predetermined activity,
automatically returning the carriage
of the typewriter.
​

By Maximiliane Donicht

Editors' note: These poems previously appeared in Bees of the Invisible (Finishing Line Press).

Artist Statement

​My poetry aims to turn inward in order to connect more fully with the outside world, and this small selection is in a sense a kaleidoscopic aviary, in which each sighting is a meditation on evolution, interconnectedness, the nature of time, and the gaze that folds onto itself. Whether it is through the mystery of who has previously set their lips to an antique Japanese tea bowl, which in turn leads to a much greater revelations, or through a connection with the very nature of deteriorating seashells on a wintery beach—I am interested in exploring the seam that separates the animate and the inanimate, the object and the living, one atom and another. I am influenced by the work of Rainer Maria Rilke, Jack Gilbert, Franz Wright, the occasional Heidegger, and ancient Chinese poets and their philosophy.
​

By Christian Sorensen

Alone she walks
The streets at night
Alone she walks
Alone each night

Her mouth is slit
From ear to ear
Those who see her
Shake with fear
​

By Christine Sloan Stoddard

The ever-adventurous publisher, CLASH Books, took a gamble on me back in September when I was stuck trying to claim my laptop from Toronto Pearson. I couldn't get my laptop that day because airports suck. Needless to say, it was lovely to see the contract in my inbox after dealing with TSA—er, CATSA—agents. Canadian airport security is still airport security. But enough about airports. The book is called Heaven is a Photograph. It's a collection of narrative poetry and photography. When CLASH editor-in-chief Leza Cantoral asked me to summarize the book, I told her this: "This girl is hungry for the weight of a camera in her hands, but that desire feels wicked. Is it because her father is a war photographer? Or is it because she's yet to become a woman who chases what she wants? Either ways, it doesn't matter what she feels because she knows this: salvation lies in pixels. Heaven is a photograph." The girl is me and not me at the same time. 
​

By Keith LaFountaine

​We had turned off the air conditioner for the final time the week before. It was unbearably hot without it, but it was a luxury few could still afford.

She did not like that we had to turn it off. I did not either, but I think I was more attuned to the heat than her. She still remembered the lush greens of deciduous trees and what catching a snowflake on the tongue felt like. I had always known the feeling of sand.
​

By J.B. Toner

​The great worm’s teeth, a fateful wreath
Arrayed beneath old Yggdrasil:
Devouring, mindless power, purblind--
Each hour it grinds in Hel’s bleak chill,
The kindly tower declines and sours,
That shining bower of world and will;
Unsheathed, unsated, seething hate
Would breathe Creation’s last, self-killed.
​

By Marleen Barr

Supreme Court Justice nominee Brett Kavanaugh claimed the latest sexual-misconduct allegations made against him are ‘ridiculous’ and ‘from the Twilight Zone.’ ‘I don’t know who this is and this never  happened,’ Kavanaugh said in a statement sent out by the White House. This comes after lawyer Michael Avenatti tweeted out a sworn statement from his client Julie Swetnick, claiming that Kavanaugh was present during her ‘gang rape’ at a high-school party.--“Kavanaugh: New Allegations Are ‘From the Twilight Zone,’” Daily Beast.

Because The Twilight Zone has been invoked in the Kavenaugh hearings, I'll offer this: my father believed in decency, integrity and justice. Had he written this, I assure you--there would indeed be a further FBI investigation along with some cosmic justice.—Anne Serling, @annesserling, Twitter, 12:46 PM, September 28, 2018. 

By Eden Arielle Gordon

​I know why
love lost is the artist’s sacred scripture
 
When we are born
we are stripped from total unity
with a dark and perfect cosmic womb 
​