After Jennifer S. Cheng 1: the sea captured in a glass 2: a homophone for having enough for leftovers, a synonym for abundance 3: the fish, who have already forgotten you. It’s not personal 4: where memory fails, there’s still imagining 5: you. Not as an ocean but outside 6: glass and/or acrylic
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The Arrest, in all its surreal narrative trappings, supercars, and Hollywood theatrics, wants to know if words can save us in a dystopia.
Winner of the EXTINCTION Essay Contest, selected by Lacy M. Johnson
CHARLES YU is the author of three books, including the novel How to
Low Tide at the Double Bluff Off-Leash Area / General Anesthesia Unexpectedly, a bit of tissue passes Lynne Ellis writes in pen. Their words appear in North American Review, Poetry Northwest, The Seventh
Ode to Good-Bye The moon was whole but thought itself
Rescue cans stick in the sand like safety orange graves. They lean towards the sea, mercury-still and prickedwith bright-capped swimmers. I’m insubstantial in the heat, a voice that sweats. I can almost hear the
today i look the half-pigin its eyes enteringthe cooler it stares from the icy lower shelf& asks what i am grateful for fragile things end up in pieces back here& pieces
still life with candle in the event that you’ve lost me in the dead / of winter—know i am probably somewhere tryingto stay lost. probably somewhere / in the middle of eating
I am gradually learning to speak a loud my wants into the air hey siri pull up booty pix since anything that can be called to mind can be
The man who kept a book in his pants came by it honestly. That is to say, Terrance did not simply see a book and think, And into my pants this must
High Notes are scarce in “Mooo!” but whatever,Lover and I interpose wobbly E5s, bouncingour sorry titties on his porch. Utter chaos. It rained so long we’d forgottenbare, sun-smooched bellies, cara caraoranges rung
Here is what happened: On the eighth of August in the year 2010, a nineteen-year-old college student flips her car on the stretch of road that the church ladies always said would
On the morning of his death, Dumont is late. We don’t blame him—we like Dumont. There’s no denying he has a sweetness to him, an inviting, innocent smile that’s not worth murdering.
