Welcome to the inaugural issue of Audi Locus. This journal is the result of hours of collaboration, creativity, and passion for the written word. As editors, it is a privilege to present the works of talented writers and artists who inspire us.

Maudie Bryant:

This first issue of Audi Locus took shape amidst a whirlwind of creation, reflection, and personal reckoning. The themes woven through its pages—identity, resilience, and connection—mirrored my own journey as I grappled with losing my dad and the existential weight of time and purpose. There were moments I wondered if I had overcommitted, if I could truly pull this together. But art has a way of grounding us, even in uncertainty. Curating this issue became an anchor—a way to make sense of the chaos, find beauty in the mess, and celebrate our shared human experience. Seeing it come to life fills me with gratitude and pride—not just for the work itself but for the incredible voices that made it real. Thank you for joining us in this moment and making these pieces part of your world.

Brandon Bowman:

I want to express my deepest and most heartfelt thanks for all of our contributors and for all who submitted to our first issue. Audi Locus wouldn’t be here without you. For us, this project is more than a magazine, it’s a zeitgeist of collaboration, juxtaposition, and conversation in art. I believe that we as creatives share pieces of ourselves to expand our own edges, to grow, to change, to challenge, and to persevere. I’m honored to have persisted, alongside you all, to create something special. Here’s to many more issues to come!

morning

after Homer

by Julie Allyn Johnson

sunshine lights up
our dirty windows.

a phalanx of construction vehicles
line the street—
our neighbor’s replacing
the driveway, it seems.

I witness the dawn’s
rose-red fingers
caressing the sky,
and I remember

what it is
I love about the world.

Switchgrass

by Julie Allyn Johnson

I nearly grasped a truth today.

It hovered in the welcome
periphery of my isolation,
shrouded in the tall slender reeds
of an almost brush-tipped panic.

It felt its way towards me
as I pondered the reach of an oak tree
sheltering late-summer cicadas
and acorns ripe for their fall to the earth.

Obstinately, I picked up my pen
and I began to write.

Unable, now, to seize even the outline
of an assertion so seemingly eager
to reveal itself, I must content my heart
with the warmth of the mystery

of insight I might have enjoyed
had I allowed it to simply nestle
upon my shoulders,
to drift slowly into reason,

the creamy silk
of an understanding laid bare.

Nomads

by Jennifer Ruth Jackson

With no land for tables,
we carry our packs past
imaginary lines with berry
kisses and tote our homes
inside each other—every
heart a welcome mat.

Ebbs and Flows

by Sarah Rosenblatt

The next-door neighbors splurge
on hopelessness. Their plants
out of their right minds,
daylight unfurls its blows
on those who refuse to acquiesce

to being.

There are very good times,
and then suddenly, rash,
destructive times. When one ends,
the other begins—a double duty.

Growing up, the answers are easy:
go to school, play with a friend,
eat dinner, go to bed.
But then, the order changes.

The weather starts telling us
things we never took seriously:
about mortality, sinking ships,
headlights losing their luster,
companions drying out,
and how being here,
right now,
is tricky.

Invisible Friend*

by Virginia Lawrence

I see them, shadows
slipping past unseen

their whispers curl
like smoke

born in their world, I
was never alone

they walk beside me
still

reflections ripple in the
corners of my eyes,

through walls that hold
their memories.

their weight pressed on
my shoulders

fingers of frost tracing
my veins

each breath too shallow

they wait, just beyond the
threshold. silent, patient

like a language yet to be
translated, perhaps

under mockery, I feel
soothed

*This is a contrapuntal poem. For maximum effect, it is best viewed on a PC or in PDF form.

The Space Within

by Whitney Tates

Spaceman

by McKenna Morgan

Cords break and snap,
their magnetic couplings
uncoupling.
Then I am
drifting.
The pull and bend
of the sky,
the colors, the beating
light. I’m unattached
and alone. Weightless.

Touching Rock Bottom

by Angela Arnold

A poor, sorry-for-itself flatness
squashed into place by centuries
that never passed, just stood still,
mocking, pointing: Sit! Lie down!
Exactly where my spirit waits,
beside this unremarkable slab,
this mirror soul.

Has it been grey from infancy, lament
of us all? My loaded breaths here
just another countless wave of air
in the eternity of rock-time.
If only we could measure things in stone,
not flesh and hours
and all the foolishness
of our high-minded devising...

Instead, we crouch in its depressed
presence—lay a virtual hand on it—
find that long space of not-doing
and the reassurance that this is,
before we hope to be uplifted
like a mere dance of bubbles.

Madrid 1 (J.H.)

by Nuala McEvoy

Spider

by Patricia Russo

He goes out, leaving the door open
so the fly has an opportunity to escape.

This is his idea of being fair.
If the fly buzzes him one more time,
he’s going to swat it.

If it steers clear of him,
it’ll likely end up drowned
in one of the cups of coffee

that sit half and three-quarters empty
on every surface.

I understand this way of thinking.
It’s so he can say,
I gave you a chance,

so why are you complaining?
The door was right there.
I even left it open.

The door is right there.

All Hope

by Flor de Lux

The sweetest words
You said to me
Came out of turn
Fell out of sync

All these years I waited
So patiently
I saw your faith was shaking
I kept hoping but

All hope ever did was
Make me cry
I never could ease in
With a challenge
That’s so prized

So I harden my heart
Cross it once and hope to die but
All hope ever did was
Make me cry

Ahh ahh ahh ahh ahh

All hope ever did was
Make me cry
I never could ease in
With a challenge
That's so prized

So I harden my heart
Cross it once and hope to die but
All hope ever did was
Make me cry

All hope ever did was
All hope ever did was
All hope ever did was
Make me cry

Apples

by Meghan Albizo

Hello Kitty is five apples tall.
Depending on the variety
I’m fourteen.

They never clarified how round
Hello Kitty was.
The magazines growing up
let me know I was round.

Diagrams helped point out
my distinctive apple type—
not the ideal hourglass
or a juicy, curvy pear.
Just a squat apple on the counter
was how I looked.

I saw these evaluations
and took them on board.
I thought you could lose ten pounds in a month
because Women’s Health said so.

You don’t see that now though.
One should only lose two pounds a week now.
No month is five weeks long.
Some are,
but not thirty-five days.

So,
it doesn’t count.

I knew at minimum
you should always be able to see your feet.
Unless your boobs—
and only your boobs—
blocked the way.

And even then,
you could be fat.

Those body type diagrams never showed a size 00.
Everything else visual did though—
just to clarify for me,
what wasn’t said aloud.

Past Lives

after “Silence” by Marianne Moore

by Marina Ramil

I used to say, “If not by twenty-and-one,
then what’s the point in continuing?”

I am twenty-and-two now if you care.
I used to say, “And when I do, as I will,

bring bouquets of yellow roses, dear friend,
to sit beside me at my boudoir

while I cake my green paint on.
I’ll hang them from their stems, when they die, to dry.

That way, you’re a part of my making in perpetuity.”
I never thought I’d watch you make

from the wings. I used to stay
warm in your embrace. Now,

your hollow bones have winter cold
running through them. Warm up by running to me.

absence of self

by a.d.

Lilith

by Miranda Jensen

Sitting on a table,
a bumblebee tattoos Lilith on my hip.
You’re online,
preaching your mind—
Is it yours?

Supremacy fits you well,
and caprice me.

Will you think of me? Will my absence hurt?
I lead a life, that would terrify
your church—would it terrify you?

Please don’t call,
This time I’ll play your card.
Smother us with silence,
pretend death divides,
so I may think of you fondly.

Hope is a Hard Candy Twisted in Cellophane the Color of its Flavor

by LA Felleman

He trusts sugar to pick me up
when he can’t be present.
Also, he’s allergic to artificial citrus
so he wasn’t going to eat them.

Labradorite

by Whitney Tates

Chaos

by Francis H. Powell

I like your kind of anarchy
no leader to set a course
a disorderly line
waiting for trains
that never come
no need for clockwork
bedlam has a place

Morceau

by Maggie McCombs

I promised myself I wouldn’t write songs of an empire’s end,
yet here we are, cleaning before the schism for our sanity,
finding the places too low for them to see,
too aloft for them to touch.

Madrid 2

by Nuala McEvoy

The Pope Graces Buc-ee's
with his Divine Presence

by Dutch Simmons

I ran into the Pope
at a Buc-ee’s in Fayetteville, South Carolina.
He elbowed me aside
as he turned water into Cheerwine,
careful not to stain his flowing satin robes,
drenched in amethyst trim.

His impatience grew
as he waited for the brisket
to be chopped and served.
The Pope had places to go,
babies to bless,
heathens to convert.

He didn’t strike me
as a beef-jerky-kind-of-guy,
but he grabbed two pieces
and made the sign of the cross as he left,
hopping into his Popemobile,
taking up the handicapped spot.

It was still running.

There Are No Wars Here

by Mauricio Moreno

only discounted rifles, two-for-one
ammo specials, sales on silencers,
jacket rackets, body armor in
children’s sizes, bulletproof vests
made to protect fetuses—nothing more.

There are no wars here.

only shadows of bodies
melted into brick walls,
a desert of bullet casings,
yellow-shelled roads
paved in crimson and rust.

There are no wars here.

only landmines where landmarks
stood vigil, warzones in classrooms,
gun powder puffs instead of chalk-filled
erasers, piece treaties, cadavers in rivers,
castles constructed on the sun-dried bones
of all-generation immigrants.

There are no wars here.

only shallow graves under boarding
schools, suits firing hollow-point
rhetoric, bones fused with barbed wire,
a balance sheet as long as the Trail
of Tears, gods of charcoal and nitrate,
engulfing all its worshippers.

There are no wars here.

People Keep Dying so I Keep Writing About It

by Sofiya Ivanova

CW: suicide

I know the topic’s done to death.
No, really, I hate to kill the mood.

I’d try to write a love poem but
my Cupid would shoot bullets,
not arrows.

I’d try to write about my arms
around a lover’s neck
and end up with a noose.

I’d try to write about flowers
and end up with the email from Teleflora
letting me know my order was delivered
in time for your funeral.

(Blood spatters are red.
Your lips are blue.)

I’d try to write about nature but
even Colorado’s skies
are clouded with tears lately.

And I don’t need anyone to tell me how
“It’s made the community so much closer” and
“At least they're not suffering anymore”—

To look at gunmetal
or a glinting shovel
and point out its
goddamn silver lining—

But maybe the best I can do
are these lines:

I’m living in spite of it,
as in living spitefully.

Calling an army of all I’m grateful for.
Lifting the corners of my mouth like war flags.
Letting my laughter be a battle cry.

Fighting the darkness that took you from us
until wrinkles decorate my face,

and doing it in your name, Evan.

Life Goes Like This

by Lucy Whalen

Hold my hand by a missed sunrise;
watch late summers bleed into
early morning breeze and shrug
at a sky that we haven’t yet seen
fall down.

Life goes on, of course.
But here, it’s too early, so
dance with me over
on the swings by the park,
you know,
the one sharing
a fence with
the graveyard,
worship friendships at the altar
of the climbing frame,
fingers clinging to rust
as you tell me all about
how one day

you’ll become
a teacher,
or a nurse,
or anyone
who might know

how to heal the bruises
on your arms.

SWEET DEMISE

by Devon Webb

In the infinity of space // I’ll be loving you forever
on the stairway to heaven // our two stars will rise
I can’t be anything // but overflowing light
god grace this innocence // god bless this sweet demise

Waterlogged in Pink

by Whitney Tates

THESE COLOURS

by Devon Webb

These colours // yours & mine too
pink & blue // on & through
I am so sunrise // against your dusky hue
can you feel it too // how it hurts to love you
how it holds time in its fist // around in circles & nowhere new

Contributor Biographies

a.d. is drawn to the sacred, the profane, the mysterious and the mythological, which provides inspiration for her work. She is an emerging bisexual poet and visual artist, and her poetry is published or forthcoming in Querencia Press, THINK, Ode to Dionysus, The Groke, Sublimation, Anti-Heroin Chic, DOG TEETH and elsewhere. Meanwhile, her visual art, mainly photography and self-portraiture, is or will be featured in Small World City, SCAB, RESURRECTION Mag, Welter, Hominum Journal, Antler Velvet and Bleating Thing. Follow her on Tumblr & Twitter/X: @godstained.

Meghan Albizo is a writer of non-fiction memoir, fiction and poetry. She was born in California, studied English and Biology at Missouri State University, explored the Pacific Northwest and currently lives in the United Kingdom with her partner and child.

Angela Arnold is a writer, poet, artist, creative gardener, and environmental campaigner. Her poems have appeared in print magazines, anthologies, and online, both in the UK and internationally. Her first collection, In|Between, examines the wide variety of our ‘inner landscapes’ and complex relationships (Stairwell Books, 2023). She has lived in several European countries and now resides in Wales. Follow her on Twitter/X: @AngelaArnold777.

LA Felleman’s (she/her) poems have appeared in The Post Grad Journal, Big Windows Review, and Braided Way Magazine. She is a financial analyst at the University of Iowa and is improving her poetry-writing skills thanks to the Free Generative Writing workshops, Iowa City Poetry, and the Midwest Writing Center.
http://lafelleman.blogspot.com/

Flor de Lux is Gabi and John. Influenced by the coarse beauty of their hometown of Philadelphia, they fuse Gabi’s bittersweet lyrics with John’s penchant for grimy, club-oriented beats, to write songs inspired by romanticism and the art of letting go. Reminding audiences of Eurythmics and FKA Twigs, they draw from art pop, dark wave, house, and R&B to create their unique brand of electronic pop. https://www.flordelux.band/

Sofiya Ivanova has known she wanted to be a “rhyme-writer” since she was three years old. Her poetry was first published at 14, and her debut collection, Hindsight, followed two years later. After immigrating from Russia as a child and beating Lyme disease as a teenager, she is now a Syracuse University Coronat scholar, studying creative writing and psychology. Although poetry is, undoubtedly, the love of her life, she also flirts with mountain biking, music-making, and meditation. Sofiya wants her writing to reach through paper and screen, into the souls of her readers—to strip away all that separates us and leave only our collective humanity. Follow her on Instagram: @strophe_sofie.
https://www.sofiyaivanova.com/

Jennifer Ruth Jackson is an award-winning poet whose work has appeared in Red Rock Review, Snarl, and more. Domestic Bodies, her debut collection, is now available from Querencia Press. When she isn’t writing, you can find Jennifer playing video games with her husband. Follow her on Bluesky: @jenruthjackson.bsky.social.

Miranda Jensen is a creative activist with roots in the San Francisco Bay Area. Through her writing and critical theory, she seeks not merely to interpret the world, but to change it. Follow her on Twitter/X: @MirandaLJensen.
https://www.mirandajensen.com/

Julie Allyn Johnson is a sawyer's daughter from the American Midwest whose current obsession is tackling the rough and tumble sport of quilting and the accumulation of fabric. A Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, her poetry can be found in Star*Line, The Briar Cliff Review, Phantom Kangaroo, Lyrical Iowa, Moss Piglet, Lowestoft Chronicle, Cream Scene Carnival, Coffin Bell, Haikuniverse, Chestnut Review and other journals. Julie enjoys photography and writing the occasional haiku, some of which can be found on her blog, A Sawyer’s Daughter.
https://asawyersdaughter.com/

Virginia Lawrence, from Bristol, England perhaps never had the confidence to pursue a career in the arts and so has settled for writing poetry in the lunch breaks of her civil engineering job. She does love bridges. Her work focuses on making sense of memories from childhood and adolescence. Follow her on Bluesky: @ginyal.bsky.social.

Maggie McCombs is a managing editor, emerging poet and neurodivergent neurodiversity advocate hailing from Lexington, Kentucky. She has worked in several literary magazines and received a nomination for the 2025 Pushcart Prize. She lives with her husband, Anthony, and their four pets. Follow her on Twitter/X: @maggieamccombs.

Nuala McEvoy is a self-taught artist and writer of English/Irish origin. A late starter, she now paints daily. She started submitting her work in 2024, and her art has been accepted for publication in Red Ogre Review, Acropolis Journal Quibble Lit, Heimat Review, Londemere Lit, Suburban Witchcraft, Underbelly Press, Ink in Thirds, Through Lines, Free Flash Fiction, The Chestnut Review, Kitchen Table Quarterly, Radar Poetry, Remington Review, Peatsmoke Journal, Drawn to the Light Press, Pithead Chapel, The Engine Idling, Door is a Jar and Plum Club Literary Journal, Underscore Magazine and others. She was recently interviewed by The Madrid Review and was the featured artist in Does it Have Pockets. She has two exhibitions in Münster, Germany. Follow her on Twitter/X: @mcevoy_nuala.
https://linktr.ee/nualamcevoy

McKenna Morgan, predominantly a dreamer, attends Western Washington University where she imagines herself as an explorer collecting tales from afar—between the keys of your grandmother’s upright piano or the core of a neutron star. While not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and two cats.

Mauricio Moreno is an award-winning, first generation Colombian-American artist and writer, originally from New Jersey. His first full-length poetry book, Anatomy of a Flame, was published with Los Angeles Poet Society Press in 2023 and received an Honorable Mention for Best Poetry Book by the International Latino Book Award in 2024. His works have been published in Conchas Y Café, Intercultural Press, Resurrection Press, No Tender Fences, Rigorous, The Amphibian, and has featured at several open mics throughout Los Angeles. Follow him on Instagram at @soul_onf_ire.
https://www.mauriciomorenopoet.com/

Francis H. Powell, born in 1961 in Reading, currently lives in Moret-sur-Loing, France, where he writes both prose and poetry. He has published four books, along with poems featured in anthologies for both adults and children. His most recent is a horror work titled Unforgivable and has a forthcoming book of poetry titled Windows to the World. He has performed poetry readings for Paris Lit Up and other events. Follow him on Twitter/X: @Dreamheadz.

Marina Ramil is a writer and student from Miami, Florida with the alligators and strangler figs. They have had work published in Stoneboat, South Florida Poetry Journal, OxMag, Astrolabe, and elsewhere. They believe in liberation for Palestine, DRC, Sudan, and oppressed and occupied peoples everywhere. Follow them on all social media: @thesuncomingout.
https://www.marinaramil.com/

Patricia Russo’s work has appeared in One Art, Acropolis Journal, The Twin Bird Review, Revolution John, and Metachrosis Literary.

Sarah Rosenblatt is a poet and therapist specializing in intergenerational trauma. She holds an MFA from Brooklyn College and an MSW from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. Sarah’s poetry has been published in myriad journals including Ploughshares, Poetry East, Heartland, The Portland Review, The Brooklyn Review, and others. She is the author of three books of poetry published by Carnegie Mellon University Press. Born in NYC and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Sarah has a husband, Craig, who is an artist and therapist. They have two sons, currently in college, and a dog named Mitzvah who was bred to be her family’s very best friend.

Dutch Simmons is a fantastic father, former felon, and Phoenix rising. Recipient of multiple writing awards but still can't win his father's approval. Follow him on Twitter/X: @thedutchsimmons
https://thedutchsimmons.com/

Whitney Tates lives in their hometown of Shreveport, Louisiana as a full-time artist. A lover of both art and music, Whitney has been fascinated by the juxtaposition of the two for as long as they can remember. Their goal as an artist has always been to help individuals understand and navigate life while stimulating discussions on mental health matters. A graduate of Centenary College of Louisiana with a bachelor’s degree in Art, their work has been showcased in Shreveport-Bossier City, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, and Dallas, Texas. Whitney has created and worked on several murals, most notably 240,000 Miles at Brake & Clutch in Dallas’s Deep Ellum district and Galilee's Stewart Belle Stadium in Shreveport, LA. In 2020, they also collaborated on the creation of the Black Lives Matter and Vanessa Guillén Memorial Walls. Follow them on instagram: @wetpaintarts.
https://wetpaintarts.com/

Devon Webb (she/her) is a Gen Z writer & editor based in Aotearoa New Zealand. Her award-winning work, concerning themes of femininity, anticapitalism & neurodivergence, has been published extensively worldwide & accumulated six Best of the Net/Pushcart nominations. She is a founding member of The Circus (@circuslit), a literary collective prioritising radical inclusivity in the indie lit scene. She is currently working on her debut novel & full-length poetry collection. Follow her on social media at @devonwebbnz.
https://linktr.ee/devonwebbnz

Lucy Whalen (she/her) is a poet based in Lancaster, England. She writes with a focus on mental health, nostalgia, and fantasy. In her free time, she enjoys singing, running, and reading Jane Austen. Follow her on Instagram (@lucy_whalen) and Twitter/X (@lucywhalen01).

From the Editors

Contributor Biographies

From the Editors

Maudie Bryant:

Brandon Bowman:

morning

by Julie Allyn Johnson

Switchgrass

by Julie Allyn Johnson

Nomads

by Jennifer Ruth Jackson

Ebbs and Flows

by Sarah Rosenblatt

Invisible Friend*

by Virginia Lawrence

The Space Within

by Whitney Tates

Spaceman

by McKenna Morgan

Touching Rock Bottom

by Angela Arnold

Madrid 1 (J.H.)

by Nuala McEvoy

Spider

by Patricia Russo

All Hope

by Flor de Lux

Apples

by Meghan Albizo

Past Lives

by Marina Ramil

absence of self

by a.d.

Lilith

by Miranda Jensen

Hope is a Hard Candy Twisted in Cellophane the Color of its Flavor

by LA Felleman

Labradorite

by Whitney Tates

Chaos

by Francis H. Powell

Morceau

by Maggie McCombs

Madrid 2

by Nuala McEvoy

The Pope Graces Buc-ee'swith his Divine Presence

by Dutch Simmons

There Are No Wars Here

by Mauricio Moreno

People Keep Dying so I Keep Writing About It

by Sofiya Ivanova

Life Goes Like This

by Lucy Whalen

SWEET DEMISE

by Devon Webb

Waterlogged in Pink

by Whitney Tates

THESE COLOURS

by Devon Webb

Contributor Biographies

The Pope Graces Buc-ee's
with his Divine Presence