April 2021 | poetry
Sitting in the isolation booth,
listening for the fading bell.
The headphones, leather-bound and lush,
are pillowy around my ears,
a vacuum of sound.
When I first signed up,
I thought it would be easy money.
But within the experiment,
there is always a double game.
Amidst a distant humming,
my eardrums gradually disconnect,
and another timbre insinuates itself.
Exclusivity is now unblurred into its primary coloring.
Causal potency, insistent and self-confident,
reaches across the small revolutions
of electrons and protons,
and the power embedded within the orbits becomes tactile.
If you calculate the empty space between the points of energy,
the sum will strain comprehension.
Layer on the emergent potential
and it will fold upon itself, numberless.
They want you to tell them what they already know,
but, there’s something else answered
in the darkening absence of sound.
As the soul machine re-dons
its practiced gait, momentum and mass
disguise the slightest remnant of a limp.
Metal shavings vibrate softly,
re-orienting to magnetic poles
with their interpretations.
Chris Innes
Chris Innes is a writer living in Washington, D.C. and has had poetry published in a variety of literary magazines, including The Wisconsin Review, The Cape Rock, Prairie Winds, Common Ground Review, The Pikeville Review, Descant, and The Mankato Poetry Review.
April 2021 | visual art
Out of the Darkness Shines a Light – no. iii
Danny Rebb
Danny Rebb is a disabled self-taught photographer who first picked up a camera forty years ago and currently resides in Dearborn, Michigan. His work seeks to evoke emotion in the viewer by portraying unexpected beauty in overlooked places and circumstances or to transform what at first glance seems to be grotesque into something beautiful. Danny was previously published in the Summer 2020 edition of Flora Fiction literary magazine. Additional images from his body of work may be seen in Instagram at @dannyrebbfineartphotography
April 2021 | Best of Net nominee, poetry
Honestly, I can’t be bothered to find out
Whether there is already a poem
About how to draw a horse,
The words brushed sleek as the roan mare
You curried the summer you were fourteen
And horseshit was a perfume you sniffed
Eagerly as lilac, as bread broken open,
The linseed funk of a boy two years older,
His voice beyond breaking; his long lashes
Pretty as a forelock. Stables call for pen and ink
And a sure hand; you can use charcoal for a canter.
How to draw a horse– you’re thinking the horse
Stands for something else and it may,
They come standard in quartets for an apocalypse,
Well-matched, ready for a chaise and four
Like Bingley had, along with Netherfield
And Darcy’s impossible friendship, fronting
A dusty stagecoach in the Wild West. You listen
For hoofbeats similar to your systole
If you are not terrified, in a tizzy, falling in love
The way I fall down the stairs in my dreams, endless,
The fall through clouds on a gas giant, pocked Jupiter
Or Bespin, an asymptotic descent I cannot complete.
How to draw a horse:
Simply,
Using your dominant hand,
Knowing the crest and the croup,
Still, breathless, tasting
The sweet green scent of masticated hay,
The antithesis of your adoration,
Knowing you will fail.
Daisy Bassen
Daisy Bassen is a poet and practicing physician who graduated from Princeton University’s Creative Writing Program and completed her medical training at The University of Rochester and Brown. Her work has been published in Oberon, McSweeney’s, and [PANK] among other journals. She was the winner of the So to Speak 2019 Poetry Contest, the 2019 ILDS White Mice Contest and the 2020 Beullah Rose Poetry Prize. She was doubly nominated for the 2019 Best of the Net Anthology and for a 2019 and 2020 Pushcart Prize. She lives in Rhode Island with her family.
