toil, ye lot | unmanned aero craft comms. |
muslin walls | crowbar cracked the porcelain | family doll collection
rind oil | eyes of wild horse people | garland in pasture, twinkling garments

halberdiers progress in phalanx | submerged vessel, ahoy & homeward
discombobulated verse | atomic nonsense

eponymous crime | said sin came natural | a shrine, an ankle brace or follicle
same crime I’m still committing

not the warble | of a thrush | or alarms from car bombs |
nor the weight | six feet of wet soil | and a lathe as it locks

asymmetric replacements | puckered lips, fang hidden
profane | bloated floater adrift | torrential conduit, parity | hypoxia
laden ogle | quench, boreal | frost sore paunch

opened spores thrash the whisper prison | crush tendons like tar pit catch
sung praise | burial place or ritual grip | wandering prion cloud
chemical electric | repair persimmon, splint | spire, meet spleen | rupture

deity meat | uncooked | amuse bouche | throngs of trill garbles
group survival theory | clump anguish | exile the weak, the overly generous

From rural Michigan, Nicholas Alti is a bartender in Atlanta. He is interested in horror, arcana, silliness, and surrealism. More of Nicholas’s recent poetry is in or forthcoming in Lotus Eater, TIMBER, Whiskey Tit, Uppagus, and Star*Line.