Gap yearsignifyinga slippery head,the lost chip in bedsheets’ seams,the honest grip of academic burden—with ego death, its loss, a dream! This odd twist;leaving a chippy mind to dampen,leavings of proteins unfolded,heaving from kin’s guilt, this damned sinblistered, known as the “son” who folded. Yet, there’s glister inuncombed, uncoiffed, and voided manes,these sprouting thoughts (from honest […]
Quarter note rest Read More »
I feel like —I don’t really know how to explain it, but —I feel likeThat glossy layer of condensation On a cheap scoop of ice cream.Strawberry or chocolate or something,The sheen, its weak shell coats the dessertJust before it melts I also feel likeOne of those unrecognizably smattered and batteredBits of sidewalk gumThat has been dragged
Untitled Words and Photo by Max Lees The hunting party sets out Into the mudsucking swamp stumbling through thick fog and shooting at answers to a question they’re still looking for Carrying black-and-white binoculars, chanting to a two- beat stomp chasing ghosts and waving excitedly at some object in the distance conjured by their burning
Words by Milo ZhuVisuals by Yoon-Ji Kweon Note From the Poet: I wrote this poem to criticize the misogynistic men who sexualize others’ bodies, and the ways in which women are subjected to objectification. This poem references sexual assault and depicts some heavy topics that may bring discomfort. If you are in need of resources,
Words by Anna SokolovaVisuals by Seavey van Walsum told them to let us eat,right? How did the papers frame it—queen of depravity? Opaqueas a mannequin in her skirts (though the libelles showed the world:this succubus won’t let us eat),she takes her last walk. Justice waitsfor the future her head obscures. She steps on the foot
June Words by Rion Levy Illustration by Natalie Song I prefer my peaches without their skins Because then I’m left to only chew The sweetness of their flesh While their skins and pits can run and hide. I prefer my people, too, like I prefer my peaches I want to know the riches of their
Words by Rion Levy Visuals by Kalliopé Anvar McCall we start with the icing— layer by layer we peel it off each other’s dense, chewy centres: perfectly round, plump with sugar, pleasant, perfect mounds pleading to be desired. we devour— driven together, digging insatiably deeper with our fingers, tasting our softness with every lick and
