HeyJaredPixie’s Substack
Pixie Bruner is a writer, editor, and cervical cancer survivor and patient advocate. Her joints bend backwards due to Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. She lives in the Event Horizon of Atlanta, GA with her doppelgänger and the most deranged cats.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 14
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
- Audience
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 16, 2026
Latest issues
Bestsellers (opens the original)
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BestsellersThe top of the poetry charts is not my place.I have too many words in dodgy stanzas.I craft forms, images, occasionally rhythmI use assonance and I aliterate, I symbolize.too many words on the pages without illustrations.There is a rhythm in mine.My volumes are slim slitettosSwitchblades, overkill for avocado pitting.Poison to the self-diagnosed gluten intolerantwho shun thinking over feeling.Poems that chew and spit instead of savor and devour.Mine can
The Quandaries of Dune (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="500" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!ir0v!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F665ff0ba-9627-4b6c-b040-19f0f3c3c11e_1336x
After 25+ Years and Various Infidelities (opens the original)
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This poem was originally written in high school. Published in junior or senior year high school lit magazine. It won a second place award one year. I got a $25.00 check as usual. Never revised. Presented as originally written. I have a spec version about alien invading Joro spiders as well. I volunteered at two nursing home as a young teen and the residents thought they were at a Sanka singles bar. Cathedral Village was where I met my very first mentor, Marguerite de Angeli. I’d visit her daily
Reading the New Ariel (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="770" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!qw4X!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fd109c613-2fed-4c07-a896-ebb0dc9a0169_1242x
Aubade (opens the original)
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A new poem. I wanted to explore aubades. I drew on memory of a aubade, the anxiety of departures, even mundane ones, that haunted me personally and connected it to more contemporary time. I am not a morning person. I refuse to even take human form before coffee or builders tea. There have only been three men I’ve ever managed to sleep beside unclothed. Two are in this poem. The third man I was married to and I forced myself to do so only incredibly rarely. A few times we’d fall asleep undressed,
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