airflow words by max lees photos by max lees Paused, speechless swallowed by a tea mug gentle whispers rise up: cinnamon, cardamom, ginger Foot- steps fall leaves dance with the absurdity of Wednesday blown out of bounds by the eternal breath of October Soft on the sidewalk sunbeams tiptoe across the earth and stream […]
Illustration | Jennifer Fong Li Dear Professor / I hope you are well / I hope you are splendid / I hope you are in whichever headspace permits you to accept my humble extension request / I hope that your kids are getting good grades / that your oatmeal is plentiful with berries / that
Illustration | Jennifer Fong Li Mornings I drive through a lesion in memory from County Road Five until Bedford. The shadow of a history only half forgotten slips between bricks and sidewalk cracks. I could be window shopping for realities both lost in time and still waiting in my rear-view mirror, but I’m already running
Illustration | Jennifer Fong Li Your body is going to be alright, because the Witch in the woods says so. The world is going to end. We all know that. Gonna get stabbed in the heart by the Three of Swords. Gonna get the hell out when the conversation goes grim. Crowds surging, because something
Illustration | Jennifer Fong Li It’s there, Right around the corner. Darting eyes. Perked ears. Scampering feet. Sweat is wiped from foreheads. The drops of dew Are flicked from wrists And sizzle on the summer’s pavement. Steps, Through beams of sunlight. Don’t step on the crack. The scars of the sidewalk From winters past.
Illustration | Jennifer Fong Li Mr. Eliot, sir, you who taught me about men, and death, and growing old, About cold comings, balding Magi, and trousers rolled, Time has demanded of me to wonder, having lost the innocence of a kid, Time to ask you, ‘Why do dads die, like Dad’s dad did?’ Mr. Eliot,
A question for T.S. Eliot Read More »
Illustration | Seavey van Walsum I can’t reach the Sediments settling in The lining between my Daydreams and responsibilities, Every gap a yawning canyon, Repetitions of “Tomorrow, I’ll–” And it’s still today in spite of Night and the Glue leaking from my dirty pores, For every unclean, slow dream sticks to me; I have never
A Limp Hand Extending from the Body on the Couch Read More »
Illustration | Seavey van Walsum “Put it in a jar and it’s a spell,” the saying goes. Withered flowers for resurrecting memories that outlive the bouquet. Pebbles for conjuring a granola sunburn on rainy days in the city. I put everything in jars. This room that holds all my joy, all my fury, all my
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 »
