Gormica December 13, 2018 By: Editor Kyle

Women wore funny hats and men rode on bicycles everywhere. There was a sense that this was a homely little town (one got the feeling they fancied themselves as such anyway) and yet there was too much extravagance. It was too frenzied, too exotic. There were too many people and they were all moving in all sorts of directions. There were too many houses and they had too many eccentricities. The noise – cacophonous – came from everywhere as all spoke and laughed at once. You couldn’t tell if they were even communicating but they made as if they were. Occasionally, little coordinated dance numbers would break out. Suddenly on the horizon a great flood of deeply dark, viscous liquid rolled towards the scene. It was so all-encompassing it seemed it might blot out the whole midground of the sky. The people rushed frantically in one direction, away from the oncoming wave, trampling many as they went. Finally one shouted, “The high ground! Get to the high ground!” and following his epiphany the…

The End of History October 31, 2018 By: Editor Kyle

I was on a bus, as were many of my comrades. The bus was huge and packed full but not uncomfortably so. After all, our leaders were humane and modern. Boxcars crammed to the point that occupants suffocated were a thing of the distant past. Other buses like ours were going to and fro throughout the city outside our windows.


A nuclear bomb dropped to earth on the horizon within the view of our windows. The occupants of the bus, including myself, stared in shock but complete silence. It was not necessarily surprising that our country would be at war. Cut off from the activities of our leaders as we were, we knew their proclivities. Nonetheless, we were still caught off guard at the magnitude and the abruptness. Knowledge and belief are often separate. We watched in awe and resignation as the mushroom cloud formed.


I was struck by a deep, bone-deep, sense of doom. It arrested my senses and held me in a vice-like grip from movement of any kind. That was not surpris…

Ones and Zeros – By: Cameron Barnett September 21, 2018 By: Editor Kyle


I wanted to write something

quaint and coded, but

all I could manage was the letter “I”

on one side of a page.



When I was your age

I never felt whole;

I only learned to

when I learned to

feel my divisions.



If the body were a sentence

how would we know

whether the heart is a coma

or a semicolon?



When I was your…

Introducing Basement Outpost Contributor: Daniel Pickle September 15, 2018 By: Editor Kyle


Daniel Pickle was born in rural Michigan before moving to Pittsburgh, PA at the age of 6. While bouncing around from state to state during his teenage years, he began to write to document his experiences. In his poetry he tells his story of homelessness, drug abuse, sex, falling in love, stints in rehabs and state run psych wards, loss, adventure and friendship. Drawing upon raw emotion, he explores the mixture of tragedy, elation and humor found in life’s less than clear path. He is currently working on his first book, “Dyings Not That Bad I Tried it Once in Pittsburgh.” Reach him via email for questions, comments or just a random conversation at danielpicklepoetry@gmail.com and keep an eye out for more excerpts from…

Introducing Basement Outpost Contributor: Cameron Barnett September 3, 2018 By: Editor Kyle


Cameron Barnett holds an MFA from the University of Pittsburgh, and teaches middle school at Falk Laboratory School in Oakland. He’s an editor for Pittsburgh Poetry Journal, and a board member for The Bridge Series. His recent work has appeared in The Florida Review, The Minnesota Review, Rattle, and IDK Magazine. His first collection, The Drowning Boy’s Guide to Water (Autumn House Press) was a finalist for an NAACP Image Award. Cameron’s work explores the complexity of race and the body for a black man in today’s America. Find out more about him at cameronbarnett.net…

Twenty Eight Teen – By: Cameron Barnett August 21, 2018 By: Editor Kyle

I’ve been feeling less canvas and more easel. It’s been

so hard to feel full of anything anymore. I eat only

to realize I am being eaten. I am guilty on thirty-two counts


of teeth collecting nothing but welfare and plaque. First

my bite, then my bark, so tell me what now have you

come for? I wish for you a misdemeanor of memories

so arresting the clench of wrists behind back stops


your heart. But you keep on beating. You keep on—

you keep on keeping space for space’s sake, or

birthright, and I’ve been feeling like a clock of bones

clacking beneath the dirt; I’ve been feeling like lumber

fish-scaled from fire; I’ve been feeling like fire as

I watch you drop cream into coffee to cut its strength


and grin me down into the blackest grounds. I wish

that was the end of it. I wish for you a toilet with no

drain, or a fuck-you-poem that keeps fucking you


up the way a lie fills a body with heli…

“Dying’s Not That Bad I Tried it Once in Pittsburgh” – Excerpt 1 – By: Daniel Pickle August 1, 2018 By: Editor Kyle

This building is known

As Dagget Street

It’s where we call home

It’s where we smoke crack

And sing along to old punk records

Until we wake the homeless

Sleeping in the stairwells

Its where the pitbulls

Are barely held back by their chains

Snapping as we walk by

Its where the graffiti writers

Have come and gone

Leaving their mark for us to find

It’s wher…

Three Poems – By: Ron Gavalik July 18, 2018 By: Editor Kyle

Molecular Flux

Lovers with soft lips

exit without warning

washed away in summer rain

But their passions

are organic

alive within us

until the final



Honored Voices

I came up on welfare

so I write for the poor

the drywallers

the retail clerks

the ditch diggers

The voices

no one hears

are heard