It’s not my hand raising your direction to some point I can’t quite describe. Just the threads. These methods, she argues, cracks its eyes towards me and all over right angles. A presynaptic mechanism deepens the entire width of your floor. Limbs grow much faster. And I hisses in rushes and noisy nourished all of […]
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Telecommunication words by Patrick Ignasiakillustration by Cameron Ashley Spasms, into you, the not-allzero fitted to onenothing you can see, you-branchof spidered out hypertextmothering yourself: silicon chips, set out to eatyour way outsidemicrovoid, its syntaxdithering off, passes through,scatters; you redressmy mistress’ eyes inliquidcrystal thinness. Remains slouch,half-chewed hemoglobin,fiber-optic, you swallow
Concentric Circles Working words by Patrick Ignasiakillustration by Cameron Ashley out of every I wish it’ll turn
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Fond of Our Shadow words by Patrick Ignasiakillustration by Chelsey Wang Bite down on the umbilicus, resurrecting the road. Weathered asphalt reflects the death of birds, and their shadowselongate on: teeth extending beyond the furrowsof your body, just beginning,
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Crossed Cables words by Patrick Ignasiak illustration by Anella Schabler yesterday, nothing quite moved, and yet, sweeping the entire frequency range, well it’s mostly semantics, but curlicues of waveform-buzz seem just to touch lines of sight, and to clarify, let’s just say I’ve made quite the mess of the sugar-phosphate backbone, I mean, for now,
