My Cardboard Balcony

Every Other Word by Belinda Roddie Each day was a slog. We were under duress, and we decided that it wasn't ready for our consumption. Then you grew taller, and I grew smaller, and we both became better for it. That is how we chose to explore our personal demons. They cannot touch us. They die without our love. Tonight's poem was brought to you by an experiment, in which the wifey and I traded off words to create something collaborative. Hope you enjoyed!

After The Train by Belinda Roddie burgers and pretzels cider and beer the latter tasting like fruit cobbler, strangely a family reunion with ones you hold dear in the Golden Gate City where there's no harmony

Unsolicited by Belinda Roddie When life sends you a dick pic, you should first question the source, since there's always a chance that Google Images was involved in this strange, unwanted tryst. Then, challenge its dimensions - how the girth might be distorted by the angle, the length extended by Photoshop. The size of the ship can still determine the motion of the ocean, and a rubber dinghy just won't cut it in already choppy waters. If you have a strong stomach, maybe try counting the veins that bulge out, like an angry man's neck. Check the texture. Is it like a sausage left in the microwave for too long, sad and shriveled? Or does it wobble like a broken chair leg, warning you of splinters, or tetanus, or worse? Upon viewing life's dick pic, you may feel a little nauseated - that familiar rise of heat in your throat, the twisting of intestines like ropes into the shape and strength of a noose. Everything about it will seem off: ...