Photography

Two Poems by Win Harms — Hastings and Abbot Street by Gabor Gasztonyi

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Two Poems

by Win Harms

 
 

"Hastings and Abbot Street, Vancouver, BC, 2013", Copyright © 2013 Gabor Gasztonyi

“Hastings and Abbot Street, Vancouver, BC, 2013″, Copyright © 2013 Gabor Gasztonyi

 
 

i imagine hemingway’s last minutes

 
 

driven by soul and too much scotch

i wonder if he really wanted to die

i think about what that shotgun felt

like as he held it in his hands

was the barrel cool in his throat; did he gag?

what was his last confession?

a story of a safari gone awry or

his best friend having his leg blown

off in the great war

maybe he thought about a woman he loved

many years ago that didn’t love him back

all these thoughts in those last moments

living is waiting to die

building up to this last moment

channeling your goodbyes

love was a game but it was pretty to think so

of course he had these feelings so

what does that make me

as i contemplate hemingway’s

last lovely minutes?

 

~Win Harms

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Millennial Rx by Rebeka Singer — Video Still by Stasja Voluti

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Millennial Rx

by Rebeka Singer

 
 

"Untitled Still of Video Poem Project", Copyright © 2015 Stasja Voluti

“Untitled Still of Video Poem Project”, Copyright © 2015 Stasja Voluti

 
 

Here’s my soul. I’m giving it to you. Do you want it? Will you take it? I don’t care for it much anymore. My soul never gave me much. And now here it is: I’ll curse it out. “Every inch of my tar black soul,” Lana sings. That’s mine. Thank you, Lana, for making tar black souls sound soulful.

 

I watch a Harry Potter film each night, sometimes two in a row, either the same, or two separate films in the series. I drink champagne and pop Xanax to numb the fear that I might actually be alone, or, worse, I might actually need to be alone.
See, I want to be in love—with my boyfriend or ex-boyfriend, he never really can decide his status, or my ex-husband, whom I left for my phantasm of a boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend. Never can tell. Can’t tell much. Wish I could say, “Can’t tell me nothing” like Kanye West. An ex-friend text me the other day: “Don’t parade your life around Facebook like Kanye West. You’re not a rich, famous rapper— yet.” That’s not verbatim.

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Panic Attack by Michael Holme

Posted on by urbangraffito Posted in Art, Photography, Poetry, Writing | 2 Comments
"Palette Of Light I", Copyright © 2008 Devin McCawley

“Palette Of Light I”, Copyright © 2008 Devin McCawley

Panic Attack
 
A spectacle of eyes transfixed by film
some third rate fifties black and white repeat.
Three minds imprisoned by the endless frames
are islands.
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Enigmatic Tweets of the Food Service Industry by Jose Padua

Posted on by josepadua Posted in Art, Jose Padua, Photography, Poetry, Writing | Leave a comment

Photo by Jose Padua
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Cutter Love by Shannon Barber

Posted on by urbangraffito Posted in Fiction, Photography, Visual Art, Writing | Leave a comment

Cutter Love

by Shannon Barber

 

 

Take the blade.
 
Her voice is smooth almost a monotone and the handle of her blade is cool against my sweating palm.
 
She watches me — my eyes directed to the left of the thing in my hand. I don’t tremble but my eyes shake.
 
I am so afraid.
 
Look at it. She doesn’t speak but I hear the command.
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