middlesex art/litmag

Old Bottles

Missed chances
Are stacking up
Like old bottles,
Never filled,
Left on a shelf
To accumulate dust.
They are best forgotten.
To remember
Is to be miserable,
Caught in a never ending
Circle of what if?
Convinced by the lack
Of an actual success
That the potential of one
Creates a missed certainty.

-Abigail Sokolsky, May 2014

Plaintiff Jefferson

I hereby sign my affidavit
Ex parte.
I am guardian ad litem
To myself.
Yet in distancing disgrace, I dub I
My mind is the liber to
His exploitations.
I presently plea guilty
Pro se:

Time has compounded his offense
beyond penitence.
‘Twas not the action,
‘Twas the reaction-his sale of
emotional bonds,
that is my grieving debt.

As he decays into me,
sheds yet another skin
only to find the one beneath
is still more odious,
there will soon be
nothing more atop
my heart and bones and soul
To shelter me from the cold and the truth.

Do I fret excessively or inadequately
Over 2 stolen dollars?

-Chase Parisi, May 2014



Photo By: Grace Crozier

Be More Candid(e)

Misconstrued gestures do haunt the
unguarded mind.
Ignoring intention, the guarded
unguardedly pines.
In shallow water or perilous sea
The span of superstition persists indefinitely.
It is a constant threat, scorning rest
and sleep,
The absence of reason, its pleasure reaps.
From dawn till dusk, and then in death
The life and blood was with Macbeth
Murder is as murder contemplates.
A gate of marble or of bronze awaits.

-Alex Rego, May 2014


Image 2

Drawing By: Sonia Tremblay







Photo By: Grace Crozier

Off the Beaten Path

Here I lie-
I twist and turn
But only because I’m
For the next pair of foot prints
To wander
Off the beaten path
And make their mark
Upon my barely trodden soul

I may not be the quickest
Or easiest of ways
But I wish that people would care
To walk under the sturdy oaks
That hug me on either side

I’m no 5th avenue
No Champs- Elysees
But perhaps the soft sounds
Of acorns thumping on the ground
Is better than that
Crowded city air

So until the next person gets tired
Of walking down the same cement streets
I will wait
For that thud, shuffle or scrape
Of a new pair of
Boots, sneakers, or sandals
Finding their way
On the barely trodden surface
Of my soul

-Julia Yee, May 2014


Madigan, Waves



Painting By: Madigan Drummond

The Mosquito

this small flying beast of nature travels by the pond

selecting its prey ever so carefully

as it soars through the heavy sky

it stops to fulfill its thirst

slowly sipping the life out of humans

only to use as fuel to cater to its unborn offspring

one may ask

why does this savage belong to our civilized world

for it only causes pain and frustration

leaving its influence in just a stigma full of irritation and prickliness

however this mere mark

marks the end of the cold days

and the rise of the new pains

harking the the arrival of summer

-Rock Hoffman, May 2014


Madigan, %22France%22
                                                                    Drawing By: Madigan Drummond