Saw your face today at the supermarket;

you watched me under the counter and

over the mustard

potato salad.

Oh! How far you’ve come;

I should say thanks for spitting down my throat.

Thanks for the lies, babe;

for nothing is truer than venom.

You never did have the intention of making me an

honest woman.

It’s been years, but still you burn me;

my reputation smolders,

and I see the smoke in their eyes.


I’ve been forgiven, but not forgotten.


I hate you,

but I’ll take a half pound of your pastrami.


© Kindra M. Austin


The fables between us 

Satirical metaphors prance 

The ironies bleed pretty white lies 

Sarcasm bursts like ejaculation 

Covered in Satan’s thick liquid

Storybook pages stick together


The fables between us

Sardonic recitals

Recited by jesters and

Ponies dance in time while

His portal opens to swallow us all


Sadistic hymns 

Written by gargoyles and 

Unicorns prance in the clocks while 

Her throat opens to consume the tale


Sadistic hymns

Hummed at Sunday Mass

Panic the court and

Constable is lighted aflame


Tarnished fairy tales 

Scripted by euphoric lovers 

Dripping sweat lingers in the air 

Scent of religious perfume 

Lurks between the satin sheets


Tarnished fairy tales



Star-crossed nothing

But sky

Moonlight paints you

Angel white and me

The daemon


Stonewashed dogma 

Doctrines drenched in your spit 

Undressed teachings 

Relentlessly misinterpreted 

Forgotten verses 

Lyrics shredded 

Constantly concaved 

Staring into the phantasm 

Sucked in by your gospel


Stonewashed dogma

Canon loaded

Peace be with you…


Braeden- italics

© Kindra M. Austin and Braeden Michaels

Don’t forget to check out Braeden’s excellent blog, Storm of Ink.

I love it when the Weyward Sisters come to town ❤

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

I am playing with knives
sharpening them
against brown leather strap
admiring the way
hair splits cleanly
upon the well-honed edge
(Christine E. Ray)

Sounds like a violin–
fine strings ‘gainst steel bow
I play concerto
splitting hairs
(Kindra M. Austin)

I’m trimming those frayed ends
sharpening those
pointy convictions
giving them a sharp edge
a serrated opinion,
ready to pierce you
where it hurts you more
(Megha Sood)

Cold steel on skin,
I blossom,
stare down the line
take aim
at friend, foe and fortune
with my throwing knives;
multiply and divide,
split and survive.
(Kristiana Reed)

I like a razor
but xyraphi sings to me
of shreds, edges, ends
sweeter than any cutlery.
An x is an eraser,
that’s why I draw it long
to keep it clean and short
and shave me complication.
Oh, how…

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author of constant muses, magpie in august and for you, rowena

Tell us a bit about your writing process.

First, I’ll talk about my poetry writing process. I sit down at my desk with an idea and type. I’m an acutely emotional person—demonstrative is a good word—which makes for a lot of material. I compose quickly; rarely do I spend more than four cumulative hours constructing a poem. Regrettably (?) my best poems are often the offspring of alcoholic beverages.

I approach fiction writing similarly. I sit down at my desk with an idea and type. I often do not adhere to an outline, if I even write one at all. That’s not to say I’m disorganized—I keep sharp notes and timelines. I research A LOT, usually as I go. I’m most productive at night.

An important part of my writing process is music. I have special playlists to suit…

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Sound and Color streamed through her earbuds. She lay down on the floor, and mused a moment at the smoke rings that rose from her lips and disappeared into the ceiling. The carpet had developed a robust bodily odor. She didn’t mind, and neither did her lover.

He stared at her with indifference, but his mouth said something else entirely; his mouth gaped open in endless surprise. For good or for ill, he’d never been a man who held back his emotions.

She’d been taken by surprise, too. The blood spray was much grander than anticipated; she’d managed to bury the blade deep inside the sweet spot of his neck without even aiming for it.

She turned her head and blew smoke at his perfect face, splashed with crimson death. Sound and Color faded out and into Glycerine.

“See?” she whispered, “I fucking told you so.”

© Kindra…

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Released August 31, 2018 (One for Sorrow)

What lines would you cross for the one you love? Rowena is a Helen of Today, dangerously coveted; she’s a paradoxical woman searching for self-certitude through pleasures of the flesh. Only one amongst her myriad of lovers can save Rowena from herself. This is a story of human connection and its devastating power.

“Despite being her second novel, Austin continues to prove she is a master of her craft. She twists characters and narratives like locks of hair and runs them like ribbon through her hands; her writer’s hands which know exactly when to make you smile or when to drop your heart into your belly.”

From Review by Kristiana Reed

Buy it on Amazon

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