The Arrest, in all its surreal narrative trappings, supercars, and Hollywood theatrics, wants to know if words can save us in a dystopia.
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Like Orion let his hounds loose. Asteroidsand drool raining from on high. Like a bitewound where each mark grows a new tooth. A wound that takes its time, wandering and whininglike a
Pandora, when she lifted the lid, did she knowwhat she would loose? Not the least: blame, which would brand her and her sisterswith the blood and resentments of men. Like Eve, who
Kissing the Wolf What wolf, that kissed me so, and in kissing mekissed himself, together we fell into a single pleasurehe and I, pressing my kisses into his emptiness,saying do and do
Head out, highway highA continuous zephyrEl Dia Previo synced Admiration for the asterismsPastel colored moonglowing Measured burning glancesPinkies linked, head cradled Zaira is an emerging writer from Pennsylvania. As a queer Mexican
I picture perfectthe moon’sabrasions,orange over Malibuthat night. Ocean blue and crestingin Dad’s blurry footagebehind his father,face paintedlentigo. This was yearsbefore his fall, beforehe only spoke in no’sand wa’s. His skullintact and helmet-free,his
I believe in the sun even when it is not shining, I believe in love even when I cannot feel it, I believe in god even when he is silent -written on
Marcus and I share a two-bedroom garage apartment, and he has filled it with horses—some are small figurines with stout legs and straining muscles, some are broad, shiny busts, with veiny eyes
On the faculty hiring committee, I march,demanding they acknowledge meand my virtues. I tell them I am decent.I never thought about killing someoneexcept myself, even then I didn’t do it.Despite myself &
Clanking trams pass my windows opened to the street. In a mason jar almost full with water, I place roses, given by friends, in sun atop the kitchen table. A
One way to measure the passage of time is to count the number of days since you last had sex. I’ve lost count. I only know it’s