LEMON HOUND

More Bite Than Bark Since 2005
Poems
Stephen Collis: from Redactical

Stephen Collis: from Redactical

1 Stuck again we came up with something else Tried gluing the cardboard shards of boxes To our heads and backs like The defensive plates and spikes Of dinosaurs we weren’t but were becoming Or drove out west like a movie we remember Where girls feet rest on the dash Window prism light listening to...
Allison Fairhurst: One Poem

Allison Fairhurst: One Poem

PHALANGE I used to—with a flashlight— inspect the bones in my hand a child’s fascination: what’s in? orange phalange glow but the bones in these hands of mine moved like worms in there and I was scared so I called Mum on a black bakelite telephone with a dial instead of buttons and I kept...
Catriona Wright: Two Poems

Catriona Wright: Two Poems

MUK-BANG You sign in to watch the K-Pop princess eat three steaks, a bucket of kimchi, ten carp pastries filled with custard and red bean paste. You sign in to see her hair, silky as bull semen, her skin, dewy as snail slime. She is size minus ten, but you sign in to see her...
C. Kubasta: The Prurient I

C. Kubasta: The Prurient I

THE PRURIENT I i much of the language of this section lifted from Gray’s Anatomy ii language lifted from Gray’s Anatomy iii language lifted from The Malleus Malificarum _____ C. Kubasta attended Wells College and received an MFA in poetry from The University of Notre Dame. Her work experiments with hybrid forms, excerpted text, and shifting voices. A...
Erín Moure: Кaпycтa / Kapusta

Erín Moure: Кaпycтa / Kapusta

КAПYCТA / KAPUSTA _____ Erín Moure writes in English and Galician and translates poetry from French, Galician, Spanish and Portuguese into English by, among others, Nicole Brossard, Chus Pato and Fernando Pessoa. Her work has also appeared in short films, theatre, and musical compositions. In 2014, her Insecession, a translational echo to Chus Pato’s biopoetics,...
Cassidy McFadzean: Three Poems

Cassidy McFadzean: Three Poems

ON WEARING THE LEGGINGS OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS Not are they born of the left-most panel – of fowl _____and fur emerging from a place of absence, from which __________we perceive a layer of brown earth. Nor from God blessing Eve, _____as Adam wipes the sleep from his drowsy eyes. Neither has it come, this exquisite...
Lynn Crosbie: Three Poems

Lynn Crosbie: Three Poems

Lynn Crosbie is a Toronto writer. Some of the poems from this collection, The Corpses of the Future, have appeared in Highway magazine. Her new novel Where Did You Sleep Last Night comes out this spring with House of Anansi Press. Her latest e-short story/fanfic, “Little Snowfall” is online now.
JULIE MANNELL: A POEM AGAINST PRETTY BODIES

JULIE MANNELL: A POEM AGAINST PRETTY BODIES

A POEM AGAINST PRETTY BODIES We all feel very bad about cutting our wrists when we’re at an age where a certain element of creativity is expected and maturity is required. I do it like a little girl. I do it the wrong way on purpose. Sometimes I do it so others can see it....
Ben Lerner: Didactic Elegy

Ben Lerner: Didactic Elegy

Sense that sees itself is spirit. —Novalis 1. Intention draws a bold, black line across an otherwise white field. Speculation establishes gradations of darkness where there are none, allowing the critic to posit narrative time. I posit the critic to distance myself from intention, a despicable affect. Yet intention is necessary if the field is...
Tanya Tagaq: Untitled

Tanya Tagaq: Untitled

when air becomes thin flesh could be moved like warm butter and chewed and swallowed without hurting anyone where my own insides can be pulled through my fingers where death seems like the only thing that is sure the only natural thing left where the lights go dim and reality blurs and my thoughts turn...

Jane Eaton Hamilton: Immaculata

IMMACULATA Oh mud lover, oh dirt, oh sewage, I’ve been wearing April like galoshes, Stomping your ditch in a swill of brown water, nursing your weeds like tits. Well, that’s over, it’s May tomorrow— no more quicksand for me. Is this love, this ooze and stain? Your leeches ride my elbows. Your scum exhales me....
Colin Fulton: Lesson Eighteen

Colin Fulton: Lesson Eighteen

  DON’T PARALIPSISE THROUGH MY ZEUGMA AND TELL ME IT’S PHRONESIS DON’T MOVERE ALONG MY LITOTE AND CALL IT ELENCHIC DON’T PLEONASATE AMID MY MAXIMS AND CALL IT ONEDISMUS DON’T ENALLAGE ONTO MY OCCUPATIO AND TELL ME IT’S SANNIONIC DON’T BOMPHILOGIATE AGAINST MY APOPHASIS AND CALL IT KAIROS DON’T ARETE MY ISOCOLONATE AND GO ON...
Madhur Anand: Two Poems

Madhur Anand: Two Poems

IF I CAN MAKE IT THERE It’s January and in the news, white fluff, cherry trees flowering in Brooklyn. What to make of the changed phenology? A closet of cuttings: Pale yellow pages. Lignin destabilized where lines are preserved. I’ll follow greenhouse seeds, edit second editions but need more breathing room, more literature review. And...
Elena Johnson: Three Poems

Elena Johnson: Three Poems

Tallest Objects   Wildflowers one knuckle high. Mammals the width of a hand gather bouquets in their mouths, pile them in havens between stones.   Each human gesture weighted with layers of fleece and wool, zippers and eider-down.   A kilometre above sea-level, we are the tallest objects bent by the wind.   Wide-legged gait...
Elee Kraljii Gardiner

Elee Kraljii Gardiner

Concepción, Chile   When they take her from the street she shouts her full name so someone might record her disappearance. They shut her up. Her articles are measured and weighed. For months they guard her, abbreviate her verbs. They keep her in the imperative. She is strip-searched, shocked, revived. Sprayed down with rhetoric. They...
Chris Gilpin

Chris Gilpin

Each Winter Every Winter   The house holds winter over its head on a book, the covers its roof, and us, the pages within. The book stillness rising, a fat sky wedge plowing upwards, as the snow rotates down, a repeated background on vertical scroll.   Winter bringing yesterwinter, piled onto by the winter before,...
Cail Judy

Cail Judy

MOTEL 6   They climb the rust belt stairs Boots heavy on threaded steel The father walks ahead and the young boy follows as the smoke from his father’s cigarette mingles with the cold prairie air.   They stop in front of their motel room Father leaning over the railing ledge Starting at the parking...
andrea bennett: Two Poems

andrea bennett: Two Poems

In Leduc, Alberta, there’s a man on a job. He’s selling farm insurance under a bow-legged tent. He’s heckling my boots, oh good, he’s heckling. At this truck stop, where this man is working, the only other visible woman is working the bar. This truck stop where I am not woman enough, but where I...
Adrienne Gruber: Two Poems

Adrienne Gruber: Two Poems

Hour Twenty   Bowel seized, Iron Maiden, tailbone swinging like a trap door.   Stuck in this swamp I bathe in my juices. Early afternoon melts   hardwood into honeyed strips. I have douched enough, fermented in sauce   of amniotic piss, the drug of heat has worn. I am combustible. Walls coat ashen, baptized....
Geoffrey Nilson

Geoffrey Nilson

Burning Down The House   Gregory Crewdson, Twilight: Plate 11, 2002, digital print of 8×10 glass negative   he walks two three times around the gas can slouched on his heels the building crackling his two teenage daughters stuck in a game of risk on the hood of the family station wagon ‘you might not...
Jennifer Zilm

Jennifer Zilm

Spiritual Media: Follow this Poem   Directives: @ShopprsDrugMart pharmacists as primary care #yourlifestore #youregonnabehappy   @VCHhealthcare urban physicians and their atrophied skills #carepointclinic   @seroquelXR05 anti-psychotics—even in sub-therapeutic does— can stop your period #mypsychiatristsaysihaveexcellentboundaries   Histoire du livre   Everyone you’ve ever known seems a monotheist, eyes entranced by this dynamic book. And you, I...
Kayla Czaga: Three Poems

Kayla Czaga: Three Poems

I Forgot To Mention the Thunderball   The day I stepped through my Etch a Sketch signaled the end of an era. Over were the evenings my father would lie belly-down on the rumpus room rug, propped on his elbows winding mini-mazes for me to solve, as I counted bunnies on his Pilsner bottle. All...
Kevin Spenst: Two Poems

Kevin Spenst: Two Poems

What’s Shaken from the Sun   We dream our ideals into each day, wake within some souvenir of failure, vacation in a lovely schmutz of laughter. Confounded by fuck-ups and shoddy directions, we hovel respite from the pits. We dream our ideals into each day. Compounded by weaks and yearns, time pummels our expressions. Our...
Mariner Janes

Mariner Janes

the cutthroat’s wishlist   crept in to covered spaces, crawled in anywhere, became punctured with hidden, felt up and abandoned   memory loss, if reconstructed in a three dimensional way ship steers, bucks left uncoiled and repulsed   if you were to look back at the crux of the ocean the dividing line, the long...
Megan Jones: Two Poems

Megan Jones: Two Poems

Ophelia’s Video Selfie   Act 1   Green girl in a garden. A girl, a veil of green.   Videos in the garden direct how I’m to be   or not to be seen.   Act 2   Dear Hamlet, Hi, Eff you.   Act 3   For every forty-two selfies I edit three:  ...