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Issue 1 of Loup Magazine, a literary magazine based out of Miami, Fl.


  • Loup magazine was created as a creative_____ outlet for me. A way to have complete_____ freedom_____ over how and what goes in to the magazine. I recruited friends, and friends of friends to compile this magazine and it is nothing less than a work of ART.YYYYLOUPKRONE MAGAZINE is an animal____. It is unpredictable, untamed, uncut, AND exactly as the artist____ wants it.LOUPKRONE MAGAZINE would not be possible with-out the efforts and support of many people. i would like to THANK____ p.a., SAMUEL MAYA, & P.K. especially. if you would like to submit to LOUPKRONE MAGAZINE please email (([email protected])). we accept all forms of writing_____ and ARTwork_____.

  • ContentsEmpty Words- Gerard AlbertArtwork- Paula Camacho

    Bare Walls- Priscilla HaaseArtwork- Gerard Albert

    Nine A.M.- Hannah RichterArtwork-Gerard Albert

    Immolate- Scott Murphy

    Dance With Her- Nicolas SalazarArtwork- Paula Camacho

    Blue- Carolena AlbertArtwork- Hannah Richter

    A Day Short of Gemini Moon - Samuel MayaArtwork- Hannah Richter


  • Empty Wordswith the little I haveI will sit at my keyboardtype away pretend I have something to saybut really now the words are meaninglessforced and there is no emotionno painno joyno joy in pain just empty words

    -Gerard Albert

  • Bare WallsShe doesnt think it hurts.But it does.Every word laden with disgust.In that house all aloneWhat would she do? Dads not here to miss her.Just us. In this house all aloneWhat would we do? But its already empty. Her face folds. Every wrinkle bares hate. So bitter. There isnt a way I could please herSave forsaking all God endowed opinion. Or if i dressed up in aluminum. No, steel.Then Id be strong Then shed be proud.

  • And would dress up in steel, too.So her face couldnt fold.So her skin couldnt creep where anger creeps. So my tear ducts would harden. So my soul couldnt cave where sadness creeps.Some days I almost dont come home. What would she come home to? This house is hollow. Silence dances on bare walls.Pain drags across cold floors. Shame sits atop the fan blades and rains on us all. And burns through my skin as it Searches for a Host to haunt.The decimates it once it finds one.Finds one. Finds me. Finding me.Found me.

    -Priscilla Haase

  • Nine A.M.I wish youd considerThe possibility ofDissolving in my tea,So I could have you for breakfast.Youd go perfectly with scrambled eggs,Slightly overdone.Never perfect,Agrees your chamomile laugh.I wish I had a wizened tableclothTo smile at the both of us,Enjoying each others pacific silence,Lips and sugar and porcelain.But oh, darling,Youre much too hot.And my throat is splitIn these frequent encounters.Should I ever try to appease you,And wait a minute more,Youve turned cold,Leaving me to wonderWhere exactly your ardor has fled to,Or what has become of mine.And I wish I could pluck outThe moment that separatesBurn from iceRight down to the second.Perhaps if I could,I would not be eating aloneReminiscing a misplaced loveAnd the forlorn attributesOf nine in the morning.

    -Hannah Ritcher

  • ImmolateThat night she found out she was only human. Crying under the hot, forgiving rain from the showerhead she glared down at her arms. She wanted to pick away at herself, brick by brick. Dig deep, rip the infrastructure from its lock, from its home, and break it down to rubble. Collapse everything built before, every account of plaster, every idea conceived in the idea of a better future. She wanted to destroy something beautiful. Hellfire and brimstone galore, the fabrics of our being immolate at the core.Hopeless win when the hopeful are soon to regress.She wonders of what could go wrong, her family won-ders for how long.The knife seems so far to her, yet its deep in the wound and continues to stir.I hope shell find a safe place to be, for the storm is coming and its not ready to leave.

  • I swear to you theres good.Theres good in our failures; in our tragedies.Theres good in death; in the tears it brings.Theres good in rain; in the puddles beneath your step.Most of all, theres good in us; in the warmness ignited.

    The storm has left.Come out of your shadows and into the castles,Blankets and pillows await for you in the east tower.Rest and watch the waves wake before the shore,Wake and see the water settle and rest.

    Peace times are here.Relax in the warmth of the sun,Let it envelop you and ease your shaking bones,Feel the fear burn shrivel and welt away,Well make soil from your emotions and flora from your beauty.

    -Scott Murphy

  • Dance With HerUnanimated,in a sea of the unknown. An unanticipated face appears,and pulls my arm.Now undeadenjoying the moment. Pairs of feet go undisrupted, with sudden mistakes. Music stops,unmoved bodies stand. Unhappy ride home.Finally in bed, eyes unopened,underneath blankets.

    -Nicolas Salazar

  • Thats the color i remember wearing mostAround youI wore it tonight Nothing has really changed except for the fact i can bring myself to look you in the eyesFunny how time worksIm not going to say its too late or some other clicheMostly because i cant bring myself to believe itIt always feels like the beginning with youPerfectIm finished when we part and so it goesI wore blue tonightThe kind I can now only find in your childs eyes.


    -Carolena Albert

  • A Day Short of Gemini MoonWhen you see G-d within her smile,get on your knees.When moonlight reeps out of your skin,get closer.When her lips redden,smother them...more.When she opens her eyes seeking yours,surrender.When her moans crack your headcase,keep going.When she cries,stay.When she is tired,make coffee...or sleep.When she strikes the match with her taking hands,give her fire.When you see the devil in her absurdist eyes,stay on your knees.

    -Samuel Maya

  • A Day Short of Gemini Moon

  • Issue One