Phoenix Magazine, "Hallo-Zine" 2023

Phoenix Literary Arts Magazine issue 66.6 The Hallo-Zine

Letter from the Editor Our world tends to be a challenging place. Why on Earth should you subject yourself to more haunts and unpleasantries by picking up this one-of-a-kind issue of the Phoenix? In case the goosebump-inducing art and spine-prickling poems weren’t enough of a draw, we hope you were bewitched by the commitment of our community to bring together, semester after semester, a record of the achievements of creatives on campus.

This edition is not just about fright and fantasy; it’s also about connection.

So, why should you subject yourself to the haunts between these pages? Maybe because within them, you’ll find a world where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur into something extraordinary. From our office, we believe that a world without the celebration of creative expression would be a very scary one indeed.

Happy Halloween.

—Diana Dalton, Editor-in-Chief

issue 66.6 The Hallo-Zine

Joss Kitts My Past Selves Haunt Me

One day, while I was on a walk My God led me up to a wall Cold and dark and smooth and tall I looked to God, and God just stalled He stared upon the metal plane With a face of grief and pain Until I heard a strange bell ring And something happened to the thing The wall retracted at his whim Revealed a room for me and Him He knew His Will—I knew my role: I walked with God into the hole Inside, I met a wall of eyes Below, I heard some screeches and cries My God then placed His hand on me And touched an eye labeled with “3” The cavern, now closed, began to shift I looked out, saw an infinite rift There lived God and my mortal form Repeated within an unending storm Finally, out from a thin black line my world reappeared; we left the cavern behind And back to my world of gray, I returned But inside me, I know, something burned My brain insists that I’m deranged But I know, I know, The world had changed

Sofia Verzosa Dog in an Elevator

Courtney McGreevy Clown of Fingers

LaKesha Lee Ascent 2

lightning / filament splay out & luminescent chemical / aqueduct hose crawl over fume hood. red-grisly crime scene. cramping pen: grammar Frankenstein back again! reagents pinprick & dropdead perfect, the formaldehyde quibble & word salad droop — amalgam / ingredients interred in test tombs, language / killed by nitpick crackle-boils, still the blood bubble up & thunder splice: unchain the tongue; roll the dice. cauldron jounce & aurora sky open up, every scalawag comma glow. austere scientist fall to its knees & change trumpet its salvo-spell: let modifier dangle & fragment hang, then toil, trouble, mix & [!]

luke Leftwich Interroband

Ascent 4

Jacob Hatfield The Ethics of Loving a Werewolf

it used to only be on a full moon. he makes us play tag. he pleads I have to do this. I have to Do this. quieter it’s Please. this means I need to win. the language just lacks. call it a mental deficit or a fuzziness as he catches up dragging both bodies to the ground – a sort of tumble pinning teeth to teeth occurs at the head - one more willing than the other. coarse fur muffles a request made to nothing because what could stop this? lock jaw isn’t killed by silver bullets – not like this – he doesn’t fully transform. a combination of a strangled howl and toothy grin haunt this moment when the attempt to rid hardened his grip. claws extend to cuts on neck.

Jaiden Kasaval BEEF

Peter Emerson Parasitic

You’ll never get it You’ll never understand The wretchedness That costumes your soul After being condemned To Ugliness By your mother.

Mine is a face Not even a mother Can love.

That is a pain No– a horror– you simply can’t Imagine.

You can try to sympathize But your mind Can not fathom The hell I am in.

You may understand heat But you’ll never know The pain Of being eaten by flames

Only Eric understands The pain in Being cradled and rocked By your mother With a mask hiding you From her.

A Phantom hidden in An Opera House Is my sole companion The only one who knows My grief.

He knows what it’s like To be given a blind wet nurse Because your mother Is disgusted by you.

He understands Beauty is needed for love

K. Randall The Phantom of the Opera

Jenna Hudgins Dies Caniculares

A celestial Sirius Dark and wirey An omen of Death Ribs contusioned, baring teeth He stalks the drove And onlooks the passerby A taste for blood is a taste for living.

He does not warn of the wake From his tenacious slumber he lay Only the visceral vocal cord carnage From his prey sings out of the stirring beast After his devour he sleeps once more Eyes closed, claws kept, tail down, paws sound Until he may rise again

Sara Caoile Gallery

STAFF

Diana Dalton Editor-in-Chief Maggie Meystrik Lead Designer Max Edmonds Art Editor

Brian Fuson Yellow

Abby-Noelle Potter Prose Editor Adin Lamb Poetry Editor Madisun Richardson Social Media Manager Carrie Cheng Copy Editor Kim le Business Editor Raina Watson Community Engagement Lidia Biggs Support Staff Bre Lillie, MFA Faculty Advisor

PHNX

PHNX