Empire for Eight Hours

By Logan Lewis

For Andy Warhol

-

I hope you have nothing going on today 

Andy is up to his thinking again 

From 8:46 PM to 2:42 AM the next day 

This is going to be a long evening and an even longer night 

Andy is up to his thinking again 

He surely has a lot of time on his hands 

This is going to be a longer day and an even longer night 

How long did you make it watching time go by?

He surely has a lot of time on his hands 

From 8:46 PM to 2:42 AM the next day 

How long did you make it watching time go by? 

I hope you have nothing going on today

 

 

About the Author

 
Logan Lewis is a student at Illinois Central College going for an associate’s degree. After ICC, he is planning on transferring to Illinois State University to get a degree in writing and is thinking about becoming a professor. Recently, he's been straying away from humorous writing to writing with more "heart on his sleeve" like feelings with serious and hopeful themes, along with the occasional humor. He wants to spend his life being silly, playing guitar, and writing songs, poems and stories. His heroes are God, his Parents, Mister Rogers, Andy Warhol. His biggest writing influences are: Harlan Ellison, Arthur Rimbaud, Doug Hopkins, Elliott Smith and Kurt Cobain. You can usually find him at Guitar Center, thrifting for cardigans or screaming songs by The Gin Blossoms in his car. #skipLogan

The Things I Think of Instead of Cleaning My Room

By Logan Lewis

-

This is what it feels like to go to jail 

Chewing 5 gum to stimulate your senses 

World War World Records at 33 and a half rotations per minute 

Punctuation storyteller FableHaven cork coaster on death row 

This is what it’s like to get out of jail 

Off to the races, a rough start 

Back on the chain gang and out of words to write 

It was taken over by snakes 

That’s the way it didn’t have to go 

Taking a cheat day: even February gets a cheat day 

Who needs politics when we have rocket science? 

I hate snakes Jock, I hate them

 

 

About the Author 

Logan Lewis is a student at Illinois Central College going for an associate’s degree. After ICC, he is planning on transferring to Illinois State University to get a degree in writing and is thinking about becoming a professor. Recently, he's been straying away from humorous writing to writing with more "heart on his sleeve" like feelings with serious and hopeful themes, along with the occasional humor. He wants to spend his life being silly, playing guitar, and writing songs, poems and stories. His heroes are God, his Parents, Mister Rogers, Andy Warhol. His biggest writing influences are: Harlan Ellison, Arthur Rimbaud, Doug Hopkins, Elliott Smith and Kurt Cobain. You can usually find him at Guitar Center, thrifting for cardigans or screaming songs by The Gin Blossoms in his car. #skipLogan

Deadly View

By Katja Mahannah

-

It’s seeing nothing when you look in the mirror,

Staring into fire and feeling its burn.

It’s trying to find just one object that doesn’t inspire you to hurt,

Like a slip of paper, sliding back and forth and slicing through your skin.

It’s hoping that the people around you will hold themselves back from killing you,

Wishing that you could trust people to be near you again.

It’s sitting on the brink of sleep, 

Begging the terrors to take a break for just a couple of hours.

It’s looking at the clock,

Expecting the worst and awaiting your downfall.

It’s extinguishing a smile before anyone sees,

Eliminating the possibility of your visible vulnerability. 

It’s jumping into the pain before it presents a warning,

Knowing that life is pain, and nothing good can happen because you don’t deserve it.

 

About the Author 

Katja Mahannah is an ICC student. She is a writer with an acquired taste; she is not afraid of the truth. Katja works in ICC's Academic Support Center, doing what she does best: policing grammar and judging the general lack of commas. Outside of necessities, Katja loves to write and clean. If you got to know her, though, you would know that she cares more about Jesus and her own, growing family than anything.

April

 By Annwyn Mahoney

-

We shed the crackling skin of our hearts, 

our downy jackets. 

Barely visible tree fingers beg for mercy of green cover. 

I am shiny wet after cold rain.

I am brand new again. Impatient as ever. —

 

  

About the Author

Annwyn Mahoney is a visiting student with 2 degrees from ICC in environmental science and medical laboratory technology. Annwyn has placed in 4 ICC writing contests. She writes free verse poetry with a compulsion to give voice to feelings and experiences not easily articulated. She lives in Peoria with her partner and their dog, 3 cats, 4 fish tanks, hamster, leopard gecko, and hermit crabs.

A Crack of Thunder

By Annwyn Mahoney

-

and I’m back at the farm, watching wall clouds 

on glowing grass. 

I’m animated with static, tingling all over from the power of the fast-approaching storm. Spring peepers sing 

and hide in the pool ladder. The hackberry trees 

not yet too old and hollow. They’re comforting, 

these reminders  

that enough of this will remain to go on, and on 

after the living things cease. I dream of the abiotic future. With flashes of lightning, the storm absolves my grief

  

About the Author

Annwyn Mahoney is a visiting student with 2 degrees from ICC in environmental science and medical laboratory technology. Annwyn has placed in 4 ICC writing contests. She writes free verse poetry with a compulsion to give voice to feelings and experiences not easily articulated. She lives in Peoria with her partner and their dog, 3 cats, 4 fish tanks, hamster, leopard gecko, and hermit crabs.

Hometown, or Another Just Like It

 By Annwyn Mahoney

- 

The familiar feeling of being an alien back on its home planet floats to the surface, a slow foam I wade into 

reluctantly. 

I know the black dirt wants me, and the rocky shore says 

my name between slaps of short waves. They know me 

because they are me. 

In the city park, an owl’s eyes warn: 

when your heart swells with rainwater, do not let them drink. But really, I know it is only looking at me 

to determine if it could eat me, or I could eat it. 

The maw of the country yawns on its rusted hinges 

to reveal a painted sky over the marsh. 

Beauty. 

It looms. 

Fermented memory brews.

 

 About the Author 

Annwyn Mahoney is a visiting student with 2 degrees from ICC in environmental science and medical laboratory technology. Annwyn has placed in 4 ICC writing contests. She writes free verse poetry with a compulsion to give voice to feelings and experiences not easily articulated. She lives in Peoria with her partner and their dog, 3 cats, 4 fish tanks, hamster, leopard gecko, and hermit crabs.

You say I am a demon

 By Essie Newton    

-

I am a monster 

Lurking under your children’s bed. My eyes glow in the dark 

And your blood runs deep red. 

I am psychotic, 

Your worst fears come true. 

My soul is as dark as Hell. 

My torn wings are what I rue. 

I am a manipulator. 

I hunt in broad daylight 

For unsuspecting victims. 

My screams ring in the night. 

I am a serpent, 

A twisted, evil creature. 

My eyes turn you to stone 

And my words belong to a besieger. 

I am no more than lies, 

My mouth only opens to sin. 

I flee from your riots 

And your sacred passion. 

I am unhuman. 

My birth is nothing but a thrill. 

I hold no power over you 

And yet I am able to tempt and maim and kill. 

I am a sinner, 

As you claim to be too. 

But my happiness is evil 

And your hypocrisy is virtue.

I am a mirror, 

My only actions are to reflect. 

But the image that I show is despicable, Therefore I must be incorrect. 

I am a heretic. 

My internal battles were lost. 

I willfully ran from the devil 

And happily paid the cost. 

I am a whore. 

My sole purpose is my body. 

When I am struck by your sword, 

Your bloodshed belongs to me. 

I am hideous. 

My unmutilated body is what you grieve. When my chest is constricted 

That is when I am finally able to breathe. 

I am the morning star, 

While you carry the banner of the Most High. My fallen state was from your broken promise To protect me from violence that you now justify. 

I am a child, 

One of the ones you claim to save. 

But you point to me as a demon 

For it is my deep red blood that you crave. 

I am no more a monster, 

Then you are a prophet. 

You stone me over and over, 

As I cry for you to stop it! 

Why must you attack me? 

I was never a threat to your might.

Can’t you see that you are the very demons That you swear to fight? 

I am harmed owing to your hatred. I am suffering at your claws. 

I am bleeding from your torture. 

I am dying because of your laws. 

I am a child! 

I am a child!

 

 

About the Author

Essie Newton (they/them) is in their second and final year at ICC. They currently live in Peoria, Illinois, and plan on attending EIU to get their bachelor’s degree. Essie prefers to write fiction creatively but will delve into their own experiences for both fictional and nonfictional pieces. Other than writing, Essie enjoys playing video games and listening to music.