The Larcenist (Volume 2, Issue #4)

By Audrey Rey and Mina Hunt

The Larcenist is an international literary magazine, published bimonthly in paperback and ebook form.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329470231

Book preview

The Larcenist (Volume 2, Issue #4)

The Larcenist

Stealing reality to achieve art

The Larcenist

Volume II, Issue 4

(August/September, 2015)

ISBN: 978-1-329-47023-1

Editors:

Audrey Rey (poetry, stageplay)

Mina Hunt (prose, stageplay)

Illustrations: Hana Mori

License: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 2.0

Cover illustration based on the story The Hollow Man by Sara Slova Perisic.

Visit http://thelarcenistmagazine.wordpress.com for more information.

Poetry

Lucia Morgan

The Optimist

The clouds

Drift,

Over tumbleweeds,

Slowed by their silver-linings,

And the hymn of the dust,

Praying for rain.

I take the time to count our position,

Making blots on the map,

And planning for the future,

Without heed to the heat, or the dryness.

Here...

Here is where we'll start civilization.

Their eyes pointed up to invisible stars,

Because,

They were blinded by the sun.

Aura Inanna

Don't Cry on the Car Ride Home, You're Driving Now

You hold the sky on your shoulders

because you can no longer hold me.

The clouds tangle in your hair

frizzed from the humidity of the troposphere,

you blow them away from the scruff on your cheeks

with your teaspoon-of-cough-syrup,

just-half-a-cigarette breath.

When it rains I smell your cologne,

musky and spicy and warm,

especially in our busted 1980s car,

raindrops dripping from the whipping blades,

into the cracked window,

my hands in the same spots

worn by your calloused fists,

listening to a Warrior’s Concerto,

loved from a mixed tape tucked between pages

of an atlas of the world you’re still,

always protecting.

Gabrielle LaFrank

A Shakespearian Death

To be or not to be?

That is not the question.

You are living.

You are being.

You are.

To be or not to be?

In the end that is the question.

To stop living?

To cease being?

Then you are not.

You never were.

Max Reagan

Fallopian Galaxy

Miscommunicated synchronic irises

Seismographic tetrahydrofuran milk

Blooming hydrosexual psych colloid

Crystals and squirting gaseous fucks

Quixotic fumes wistfully wafting digits

A liquid nova mirrors ennuis avon

Refracting reflections of bursted

Bulbs and advertising vaginas

Blossoming into pixels

Hydrophobic or either homophonic

Lydia's cunt is homophobic

Blue lies under betrayed skies

Holidays on Tuesday and dreams

Underneath featherbrained rhymes

Practically fictionalizing the oxygen

With an orange fire for thumbs

Contemplate singe and binge flames

Hangnail lashes out at moon rock

Lunar sketches and graphite granite

Mail in the mail box rusted and dry

Wet sky transparent and transplanted

Though there is nothing welled up

Or enough voice to reply

Forbidden oceans float in heaven

Deeper than Fallopian planets or

Gyro optic blood moons

Radium radius radically seeping pus

Opaque history fading into dirt and

All the years of endless vermin

Fumigation of color coiffed planets

And vermin yellow sassy asses

Hydrogen laughs at peroxide

Says, fuck your chemistry

***•••

Starlight intoxicates cloudscapes

Shedding skin and scales and skies

Feathers ignited by milky sunshine

Lactic acid solar systems and

Lactalbumin satellites

Wishing for 3

Suns to orbit her

Fallopian moons -

core of magma

And ova bubbles fizzing lava nerves

Galactic atom grows towards them

The sun flows ink - a fountainhead light

Circumstances and circumventing

Shapes and circumferential

Cosmic circumferences causing

Webs of stars to stick to cold rocks

Insects in space and space in hearts

Brains in catalyzed psychosis bulbs

Bulbs blank and bright and blurred

Black everywhere else but here

Starburst and Sour Novas shed super

Sonic systems of placental bubbles

Three hundred thousand years of

Silence to find a door only one mile

From nowhere though now here

The center is vanished and twisted

So full of locks to keys and seas

Raining flame and pubic drops of air

Spiral interstellar dots connected

Forming eyes and smiling birds

Seeded with vaginal vortexes

Supernovas exploding into faces

Of quiet and quick, quaint quacks

Quintessential nipples seeping sound

Titanic mounds of dust atop roof

Breasts full of pulp and eyes void

Of tears, lava and electricity

Stars scope and orbit stumbling

Through the world it knows of

Worldless and wordless nothingness

Questioning itself and the spinning

Spirits of time, and sons of bitches

(Fusion)••

A transcendent blue rhino says

Translation comes tomorrow

A contemplating skeleton waves

After fibrosis decaying sorrow

Now at last bubbles burst

In space sucked dry of thirst

How many moons can I borrow?

Saturn seeps semen and

Impregnates Venus

By sticking it's cosmic penis

In Uranus -- oblivious

Belly blowing swells cold

Umbilical Orion stretches North

( up down left right)

A leftover enzyme transmits

Anecdotes and carbon dreams

There's bones walking around

In the funnel unbelievably

Towards the end of the tunnel

Blank and black and forever

===

11

Gaston Villanueva

Tell the Truth and Run

Somewhere along the way, my focus shifted from living my life to filling yours with memories.

Fran Marie

Spinning

Dream your dream


come with me


to utopia


where shangrila


awaits with


Venus



Stir your senses


to Saturn skies


one step away 


from heaven's gate


leading to


Nirvana



Dip your desires


in Neptune's sea


succumb to


sublime bliss


drenched in


paradise



Chart your course


spinning thoughts


in rapid force


calming ever-changing


breathing winds of


Mercury



Summon the stars


lighting the fires


of the universe


striking an iron sword


conquering


Mars



Taste the temptation


from dawn to dusk


in morning's sun


and magic night's moon


sweet ambrosia on


Earth



Possess the power


to break free 


those binds


of restraint


unleashing chains of


Uranus



Scheme the scene


take the chance


let luck be


familiar in mystical


themes of


Jupiter



Ride your rhythm


savoring flavor of


forbidden fruits


where no rules apply


you and I spinning in


Pluto

Zahra Akbar

And I Write Poetry

Mornings endow new melodies

as birds break into dawn chorus

and zephyrs lift the hearts concealing

resplendence of unforeseen arrivals.

the meadows are painted

in serendipitous shades,

Epiphanies flutter

tracing mysteries in asymmetrical lines,

from your heart to mine;

and I write poetry.

Sun rays scatter upon the paths

verve of golden fancies,

holding hands, as we walk

beneath cerulean reveries,

with a newly discovered buoyancy in souls.

And I write poetry.

Faces

Layers and some veils, 

I have many faces and

none of them untrue.

Prose

Connor Burrows

Along the River

The Delaware River bends down from Charleston, southward to the ruins of the old water mill and out through the hills and over the county line.  It lays nestled there in the valley, and from those hills one can see the river and further along the entire town.  As a boy James played here often with other boys, and sometimes girls; they would play at house when they were very young, and when they grew older and the girls had gone off, they played at war.  The stone walls of the mill crumbled into the water every so often with splashes that endowed the area with a chaotic sense of decay, and they held in themselves stories and romanticism which could only be guessed at by children and were certainly more beautiful in the hands of their unrecognizing hindsight.

James Williams, no longer a child, walked slowly down the hill and towards the river.  The trees were tall but not silent as the leaves were rattled in the wind and they hung down over James as he continued through them, smelling their dampness mixed with the fall air. The trees began to thin as he approached the bank and he could see Eva sitting at the dock, which jutted out from next to the boathouse.  Eva’s hair was long, and she had dressed warmly as to ward off the chill of the wind that brushed across the river and