by J. Bradley I like my sex like Bushwick,lose myself in you as a touristof poverty. The repo person rubs glovedhands, staring at my tenuousauthenticity. What will I pawnto maintain my street cred? Every episode of Girlsis a chapter of the soonto be popular children’s bookWhere The White People Are. I’m sorry I don’t know theContinue reading “The Whale Can Join But The Squid Is Only Allowed To Watch”
Category Archives: Uncategorized
When Your Hair Was Still Long
by Zooee Ghostly Outstretched limbandJune-facedyou, That humid bedroomandpoemsof English painters,poemsof Chilean romanticsin a language I can’t understand The animals kept survey;yellowpupiled barfliesdreaming of your legsand mouthwondering aloudwhere my tonguehad found itself yet. Another recordthis one Gainsbourg.you longed for Bridgette,I called you Bonnieand we lay brokenthereon the ashburnt carpet. I was not jealous ofthat southern onethatContinue reading “When Your Hair Was Still Long”
Lightning
by Josh Raab There is no need to fear the lightning in New York City,shoulder to shoulder with scaffolding and fences. The metal and concrete,roof decks and penthouses,will catch the weight of the skyshould it feel the need to fall. The city’s grid and deadbolts protect you from the unplanned and they damn it.They putContinue reading “Lightning”
Da
by Susannah Richardson When I was five, I asked what to call you, and you said daughters don’t call their fathers by their names. Call me Da—It’s what Irish children do, but I didn’t know that then and you didn’t tell me. Never one for explanations, I never found one after you decided this world wasn’tContinue reading “Da”
untitled poem
by Cayla Lockwood what about when i find you in the busheswhat about when it’s cold outsideyou can’t do that shit no more did you knowthat you can buy property on the moonone guy owns the moonhe’s also a trained ventriloquist there’s a phone number you can callyou get a certificate and everything30 bucks anContinue reading “untitled poem”
If Not for Kidnap at the IPRC
by Rebecca Nguyen I am a visual learner so when I am sitting in the fold out chair, with my two buck chuckand you are up at the micturning pages, swiping screensthe words are incomprehensible I give up, I let them goI let them hover above my head(a sleepy mist, a sagging tarp, the northernContinue reading “If Not for Kidnap at the IPRC”
Modern Modem
by Andrea Crafton an intimate pantomime plays outpublicly. no one claps between acts,but they rearrange in seats uncomfortably,everyone following the script but us.focus lingers along our figures,just the same but not in sync.eyes touch you across the aisle whilebreeze from the door breaks space.the audience is dry and confinedwith the sweat of hands sticking toContinue reading “Modern Modem”
sad story #5
by Alexandra Naughton I don’t want to be your manic pixie dream girl or otherwiseI don’t want you to like my writing because you want to fuck me I want you to want to fuck me because you like my writing thinking a lot about being a girl on the internet / breaking mecult ofContinue reading “sad story #5”
The Poem You Found (or Will Find) on the Bookshelf in the Corner of the Guest Bedroom
by Kayla Pongrac Schwerer Your corneas look like springtimebut I am lock-and-keyed to winter andthe swirling snow. I lookedat that picture you took yesterdayand, hey, I think we’regrowing old—Polaroids hanging bypush-pins, fading and curling as we celebrate our new sepia tone. But I’m still tapdancing on the curved platforminside your right ear, like a fool withaContinue reading “The Poem You Found (or Will Find) on the Bookshelf in the Corner of the Guest Bedroom”
Self Portrait in Seven
by Christopher Morgan a broken printerspamming the same sentence:“still trying my best”*a boy in a suitexploring his dark roomwhen nobody’s home*a stork hunched overpretending to be tinyin a gator’s mouth*a worn bookmissing its coverslowly burning*a flower wiltingdespite overabundanceof sunlight*a blurred overcoatrising behind your seatwhile you’re driving*a fence-bound crowsquawking encouragementwith its throat slit