Dotted Line Dotted Line

Poetry Summer 2017    fiction    all issues


Cover Marija Zaric

Kathryn Merwin
For Aaron, Disenchanted
& other poems

William Stevens
Celestial Bodies
& other poems

Kendra Poole
Take-Off, or The Philosophy of Leaving
& other poems

AJ Powell
Mama Atlas
& other poems

Matt Farrell
Waves in the dark
& other poems

Timothy Walsh
Eating a Horsemeat Sandwich at Astana Airport 
& other poems

Nancy Rakoczy
& other poems

Joshua Levy
Venezuela Evening
& other poems

Ryan Lawrence
Vegan Teen Daughter vs. Worthless Dad
& other poems

George Longenecker
Yard Sale
& other poems

Susanna Kittredge
My Heart
& other poems

Morgan Gilson
& other poems

Jim Pascual Agustin
The Annihilation of Bees
& other poems

Taylor Bell
Browsing Tinder in an Aldi
& other poems

David Anderson
Continental Rift
& other poems

Charles McGregor
The Boys That Don’t Know
& other poems

Cameron Scott
Ashes to Smashes, Dust to Rust
& other poems

Kenneth Homer
Inferno Redux
& other poems

Alice Ashe
& other poems

Kimberly Sailor
Marriage's Weekly Schedule
& other poems

Kim Alfred
Soul Eclipse
& other poems

Kim Alfred

Soul Eclipse

My life has revolved

around many suns

always the incandescent

glow being the trigger

for the hypnotic transformation

of each self.

Revolving, my body dizzies

into an oblivion.

Who am I today,

am I suddenly grim?

I am drifting, a new moon,

constantly bearing darkness, and

light again. My life revolves around

many suns, deepening the ability

to feel. Who am I today,

who will I be,

among the infinite selves.

Brewing Innocence

Coffee shop souls differ from

all others;

we are the ones who

get our caffeine fix from

the delicate and creative

energies of beings

with their faces in newspapers,

ceramic mugs steaming with

sweet roast aromas, and from

those who are comforted behind

large rimmed glasses,

watching from secluded corners.

Coffee shop souls thrive off

the untouchable madness

found by looking into the eyes

of the man at the bar

sipping his cappuccino,

surrounding us with something

so rich that five dollars for a coffee

somehow seems reasonable in

relation to the richness you cannot

pay for by sitting inside

this little coffee shop.

The Virtue of Realism

When you find yourself,

take notes.

Beautiful being,

remember how this feels.

All knowing, openly inviting

your soul, you understand.

Remember this feeling.

Do not let it go.

Otherwise, you’ll have to reach

the bottom of too many glasses

and be destroyed, in order to

find yourself again.

So, darling,

take notes

or join me in a cheers to

disillusioned thinking.


I sit here, bare, in a lifeless room.

But there is movement all around me;

the monotone hum of a ceiling fan,

television commercials full of hypocrisy,

the rustle of untouched lists on the dresser.

Yet still I sit here, bare,

my body pale and weak,

emptying shallow breaths into a room full

of movement, my presence languished as the

lifeless materialism that surrounds me.


Will you stay sober enough to still

love me in the morning,

like this?

Or will I be left with only the lingering scents of

your skin, trapped between

these cotton sheets.

I hold your shirt near me as I sleep.

Loving you is unpredictable, constant change.

I move the shirt from the bed with a deep inhale.

I should love myself in the morning,

like this.

I roll to my side, see only my reflection in a mirror—

holding my shirt as I sleep, wishing to wake in love,

sharing a cheers with the empty bottle on my nightstand.

Kim Alfred A tug on your heart, a push of your lungs, and a pull of the red string that connects all life. Poetic works can be found on Instagram using hashtag #kapoetry.

Dotted Line