Raw

I feel

emerging from my softened heart

the rage of that diamond-blooded girl.

She boils in my body

like she did then–

sharper than glass

and

drenched in sacrilege –

ready

to draw your blood.

“Platinum” by Angie Hoover Hillhouse

Rouge Illusion

with blurry fingers

and white shadows

she beckons me

to her

mirrored hall

of

—- madness

————

–I won’t go

no, I won’t go–

but you are always in my eyes

spinning shadows

into

fire

underneath your

bloody rose

“What it is to be Red” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Rouge Illusion by Elle Hanley

Where it’s Safe

I am here–

No hands to grasp

the prickly air

or

limbs that long

for impossible

love–

But

I

am

here

— a face stuffed

with pale, white

mud

–so that the world

will never get in

or out

of me.

-“Where I am Today” Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

I will Protect You

My gaze–

brown and hard–

poses on

your

tiny

back,

piercing holes

into those

that you

do not

wish

to face.

“Safe” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Immunity by Filmout

Art Heap: Jenn Mann

Bubblegum

Sea Gal

Pomegranite

Mars the Grackle and the Two-headed Girl

Milkweed

Bear Mountain

See more of Jen Mann’s Art Here

Never have I ever

At 12 I didn’t have that

homoerotic

best friendship that I’ve

seen in movies–

I never eased my sweaty

palm into yours

and we never

shared powdery-pink

kisses during sleepovers

just for practice.

I always slept on my side

clinging to a small square of

purple sheet

instead of with you

forehead

to forehead

in a sea of plush blankets

You were always different.

Sometimes Lisa

sometimes Brie

Jenny, Mia, Amy

and those faces in between.

and I always felt alone with you

because we never touched.

–all of you so far away

and me too

smart to reach.

But

I choose to have

your girlish warmth–

—lipstick—

— secrets—

youth

A mirage of adolescent love

to make myself

feel

whole

by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

The Women

The women

are made of

heaven’s ruby lips

and honey-colored stares–

——–They are

those

chills

that prickle covered arms

in the brisk night air-

and

——— those

mysterious

flirtations

that warm dead fingers

with the electricity

of

promise.

but deep

in the bones of their pretty feet

—–deep

in the pits

of their brown bellies

is a passion sickened

and pale.

-Too old and beaten

to come

to life

for me.

-Angie Hoover -Hillhouse

Cinema Surreal: Sweet Dreams

Animated food and allusions to Synanon.

Please enjoy this claymation short film by Kirsten Lepore