September 22nd, 2017


Underneath – Lauren Kennedy

These bars are thick metal
underneath the rust and the red primer and the black paint
thick and gopping layered up the bucket brush onto my fingertips and creases of my skin

Black souping paint and spattered brushing rusting scrubbing
thick metal
The front gate that will crumble and corrode unless hidden from the wet and the air
and well.

The bars are covered, each in turn, and well
And my skin, holy rising testifier, bucking, eager mate to the wet and air
it gets covered too
in the black paint

There is black paint on my nails. I polish it with more black paint, swollen with glitter.

Songs play from a phone
the wind shakes the grasses
the pigs snorffle in the distance
the sound of 18 boxes of bees
humming a life

#Underneathing — Soapboxx

I guess I get
what I deserve
Don't eye me for words
never observed

As I purge
Cryptic critic preserves
Crisply strong across
my dad saids gauze
Like a pine mist blanket
Atop an African quilt
Of never wilt

No need to thank it
Wrap yourself in the unfamiliarity
Imagine the potential
Lay underneath
the past of almost

Smell it
taste it
Avoid it's habits
Be great
be full
Be you to fill the space you kill

Live Beautifully
Die great


Underneath – Dori Moura

The laundry's done
I need to hang
the sheets
out on the line

I'll pick up bread
and birth control
at Costco
after nine

A birthday card,
a soccer game,
the kids will need
a ride

The neighbors
asked us out for drinks
I'll let you

I move my hips
and squeal a bit
and hope you're almost

Nothing useful's
getting done
while I'm here
under you

Underneath – Carly Hayes

The raw red skin of your peeled back eyelids never close enough to strain out the images flowing into you.

Every sharp and painful thing tears into you and falls into the black roiling sea in your mind.

Waters that greedily swallow every dark thing.

Is there a still place in your mind? A shore? Tidepools filled with brackish water? Can you see yourself reflected back? Overlayed with the slimy twitching life inside you.

There is nothing with sharp teeth moving in the deep. Nothing with dead eyes shifting in the darkness. It's you. Your body. Floating. Bloated and rotten. Skin ready to slip off your meat. Ripe with ruin. Ready to spill everything inside you back out into the world.

Underneath — Izeck

How neath can yeath go?
What’s underneath the last onion layer?
Always to the underneath, as those who don’t have, can’t compeath
The reef
Death underneath, life on death, life overneath
the underneath, can you get that neath?
Even beneath the reef
Deep beneath what’s reaped
Making the bottom plane of the flat earthers
Into the middle of the world
Can’t go lower than the center
Black hole sent shattered teeth
Light gets bleeped
Heep Heep Hooray
Got grief?
That shoots you lower than a man with a brief
case, or handkerchief
Folded neat
After wipin’ my teet
Red like a beet
Smell like my feet
Hear like a beat
Won, what a feat
Not, like the Heat™®©
Mom, that I greet
Sounds really neat
Dumb as the mothafuckin’ dumbass Veep
Who ate all the Peeps™®©
Don’t sow what you can’t reap
Seeds™®© that leap
Seeds™®© that seep
Seeds™®© to keep
Deep as the title, Underneath

Underneath – Mim. Ology

The patterns undulate in a repetitive manner
Though not ever the same, or exact
A casual glance would homogenize them
Reducing their variability to common themes
Denying the refraction of atmosphere and light
And the constant subtle shifts of mimetic reproduction
Contrasts provide focus for the observer
High key and low key juxtaposed
Flashes of reflection hinting at sources of color
Like a wavering carnival mirror
Only upon close examination
A direct gaze into the darkest spots
Attempts to see past the surface
To the complex other world

Underneath — Natalie Windt

Where did I leave the words I wanted to say?
Was it somewhere behind the day old bread?
Somewhere in between that awkward space in
the corner of my kitchen, while unbagging all those
canned goods. And my perishables.
I unloaded them for sure.

Where did I leave those words this time?
Still waiting to be expressed. Was it at the store?
Or worse yet, still scribbled upon some shopping list?
What if I left them underneath the cart, the damn cart
again, and some lonely teenage boy made off with my
poems, my stories, my expressions, to impress his
metal-mouthed girlfriend?

I paid good money for those words
I keep leaving them around like they are
worthless. Nowhere to be found.
Just wheeled off underneath some cart somewhere
disappearing into the night.

Send me prompts for: