ch’izh — (Navajo) the rustling of dry leaves A thicket of birds frightened in the night, but then what of the wings? Tongues by day wrestle with the dry leaves each are left with to digress into verse; bustling, fussing, prattling; the skin moves about in fine linens, there is the skin beneath, much less calm than what appears; a softer crashing; a gathering of…
Of Shells by Stacey Tran
As scale of balance. As object hollowed, emptied of its mass. As framework, mere externality without substance; as in the outer part. Received unto windows as indecent allusion; as glass in its two halves. As if edifice or fabric whose interior, removed is now merely an arc. As skeletal or concessive to such regression. Remains of a ship once carved and filled. As in building…
Untitled
Engineers are close to trapping a rainbow. How do you trap light? by Neesa Sonoquie
All of these hours and the ice sheets melting into soup, the world now one-third plastic, beach sand like Beta and Atari, phantom erections, phantom voices, a 2000 year-old ghost forest uncovered by rough seas. There is an unusual swarm of tsunamis fucking the seafloor stirring violet light into the atmosphere, and scientists are working on a new banana. Do we really need another banana?…
Sentence I by Lydia Ship
Each member of my family was born as a page in a book. All of the words had to form a relevant artistic whole, so we spent the minutes of our days examining each word against others in the book. Then we discovered that the book already existed, and so we examined our pages against the pages of the existing book to make a perfect…