is the reason— lungs swelled to beasts,   legs to the grave, the joy of nothing happening—I,   strawberries & cream still cold under arm,   flick ashes to eagles whilst waiting for Hassle—   the name we assign our new bus/driver.… Read More “THINGS (BAGAGE) by Linette Marie Allen”

When               you tell me no,                   you are beautiful when               you show me yes—               the x pinks of                     your pain,                    I part                  your                 home like                  crab,                suck the secrets                    blind like choice                         meat meant               for hoar- smoke coming home in the rain.                                 … Read More “TWILIGHT OF BEOWOLF by Linette Marie Allen”

“Don’t ask me any questions.… Read More “How Late Was I, Ciudad? by Sreyash Sarkar”

Det er sommer og indeni den ligger en anden sommer: en sommer der fortsætter den korte sommer der blev kort fordi noget usommerligt afskar den fra at være sommer, fra at være en årstid, fra overhovedet at være en tid, men nu er det sommer: den anden sommer, den fortsatte bevægelse; en æske åbnes og sekunderne får en chance til.… Read More “Pandora av Mette Norrie”

Her kan man hverken komme ind eller ud ad natten.… Read More “3:00 av Mette Norrie”

The kindly night has taken in this body, pestered as it is with drink.… Read More “Buster Keaton by Joel Scarfe”

After a day spent attempting to impress those good-looking girls who were not impressed I would retreat into the company of boys and drink, and on one such night, sitting on a friend’s bed blowing smoke at giant moths driven mad with the light, I gulped down a pint of cognac, and by the fourth or fifth time that I fell off my bike in the dark, I truly believed that I had, at last, grasped the meaning of the word sublimation.

Early enough to hear the light whispering like a lover to the dawn I cross the street, evading Messalina’s grip, and find the pavement is already sick with pigeons, going at each other over scraps of bread scattered at the feet of Christ (possibly) who looks as though he hasn’t slept since all that Gethsemane business.… Read More “Commute by Joel Scarfe”

for Leon Stokesbury I was searching for a box To package a lovely jar Of Herbes de Provence to send you, An early Christmas present, When I heard the dreadful news.… Read More “Elegy for a Dear Friend by Paul Lubenkov”

I am the summer you burned for when the tedious school hours waned and I came running to stretch out the dusk just for you.… Read More “The Last Summer by Joshua Plack”

Hot meal, hot shower, or a safe bed?… Read More “What’s Your Pleasure? by Joshua Plack”

10 speeds kickflips & splinters— hanging on the post that flashed that orange hand, sliding down bannisters like it were a sled on a december snow day.… Read More “Blended Together by Adam Que”

This place is all asphalt temple, a tornado of highway curling like smoke over an altar, but there is no ancient magic here.… Read More “STOP MOVING TO L.A. TO WORK ON YOUR INSTAGRAM by Morgan Nikola-Wren”

After the dinosaurs lay down in their fossil beds and the ice ages shift from Pleistocene to Holocene, some eleven thousand years of weather ago, there walks into my apartment this millipede, no doubt as a result of the wettest month of May on recent record, Lakeland and Venice both reporting.… Read More “Millipede from Mars by Victoria Dym”

X-rays ain’t like in movies, you know.… Read More “Gladys Went and Busted Her Ass! by Joshua Plack”

[  because you know                 ] [  this is too beautiful               ] [  to try                                        ]

This strip of Friday night nowhere pulses for our baby blue Saturn CD skipping the third-measure bump, jump, falsetto cracks and we taste it in our jaws riding white and talking that shit like we run the pool hall with one leg like Kirby limping and shucking on smooth southpaw licks, watching VHS tapes from the backs of magazines with Grier and Roundtree and playing like we black cause we don’t know what that means just yet and now the lights are falling in Flatbush and all of us and Brooklyn are paralyzed.… Read More “Look Up Curtis! by Joshua Plack”

Rain against the earth’s surfaces, a million tiny percussions.… Read More “Paintings of Waterfowl by Alexandra McIntosh”