Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
Saturday is small and full of bright hot life and love buns. I can’t taste the chocolate notes in coffee three, but Jesus turns the wet brown grounds toliquid light and I growthick roots, twisting down deep into the busy ground. This season is one ofyellow weather and mounds of sounds we only taste when we are finished making little sighs of soft delight beneath…
Please be advised that this comic includes depictions of self-harm. —The Editors
to the sound of the advent of cold water when scheming is colouring landscape grey on grey improbably clouding the random body of — along the way in the sense of minerals or pollution one of us misjudged all manners of trajectory grey on grey it isn’t slate sounding out water, not even in the sense of — in the sense…
I’m people. One day, I’ll be a meme or put a QR code to my Cashapp on communion wafers. You scan, pay, then let it dissolve— through you, with you, in you, etc. Cut your teeth at a 45 degree angle this valerian root smells like feet we smell like feet we’re healing, pulling coconut oil from our toes, swishing it in our mouths bleeding…
Please be advised that this poem includes descriptions of self-harm. —The Editors —A golden shovel poem on a line by Kaveh Akbar Oncemy mother played the violin until Ibegged her to stop. Melancholy cutlike catgut through my wrists and I bled in the openlike a butchered rabbit. I looked down, saw myfingertips had fallen off, my thighcrusted with their bits like panko ona fine Chilean…