The country grew fatter by the acre as some of us wondered whether there were any words left. These thin ribs choked the plains that are so damn plenty and the skies thundered from the west.
Untitled by Braden Bell
Because the blues is the GOOD silage and because no one keeps stock. Because I will not revise things elliptical, I wear rocks in my pockets, silage, I get it – I get it – this is why (and like their gravestones chatter) with a smirk behind the features I had it – the thing becomes a weight with a number. I will no longer…
AN EXTERNALIST, by Christopher Davis
denied tenure because he’d felt he had to say he’d like to lick his chair’s wife’s clit, shut down. Outside his lids, his silent, starless cave, Easter! Boulders beat up white fires, waves! Sunrise, time’s big smile, simple, winning, sinks, thinning into its bitter grimace, fun light, finally refined, igniting wilder riptides, quivery, jittery, a kite flying by night, alive!
TONGUING THE LINGO OF THE LIVING by Christopher Davis
1. In My Imagination Why can’t my sweet nothing, milky, meaningless, polyphonic, swelling in my hindbrain, mediocre, motivated, polymorphic, sound life like a people think? Terrified and tired of this tendency to talk, tell all, as if startled strangers could be my fictive family, I prayed, psychological pastoral, silence, for a vacuum sucks better than a wife. In a “tea…
Feed by Nikia Chaney
Last night a hand came out of her fish sandwich. She sat in the damp leather chair, staring down at the yellow paper, dark red bread. There were hard fries, like straw rocks, to the right, and an orange (in color, not taste) drink to the left. All the others were eating silently. It was a white man’s hand she noted with blinking eyes. The…