Volume 67 Issue 5

Somptult

There are many meshed and just enough, so in their brittle wakefulness molluscs that lumped. Cancerous behind their voices. Shook their shadows before the slough-off began in earnest. Rolling out horsedark, heat with too much mouthing as to breed thin annihilates the rest of our habit-retition. Bodies that tick and thousands that are sounding celestial

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SCRAPS

I’m 19 and it’s mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Or maybe it’s 8pm. I have to be the storyteller now. Make love out of history. THE LOVE YOU WANT SO BADLY IS ALREADY WITHINYOU. YOU ARE IT. YOU HAVE BEEN IT SINCE YOUWERE BORN. YOUR MOM SAID, “WHEN I HAD YOU, I FOUND THELOVE I HAD

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