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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* Voltage-gated pathways are depolarizedand pore-forming membrane proteinsallow calcium influx from adjacent solutions. (Cell insides become saturated) Excitation is mossy fiber runningsouthbound head-stems and paired shootsthrough once-relaxed tissue. * You’ve established rules,preventative
What separates us from our lives / is a see-through thing. /
After 100 days learning German on Duolingo.com Your cow is pretty. I
because even immortal things diewhen touched by love.1Like a winter fingerdown a wingless2 spine.Still, Madame Butterfly,the world3 is largerbecause of the leaving.4There is more to life5than6 resurrection7. [1] Bread. Ice. God. Tears.Night
It’s not worth mentioningthat in the middle of MonopolyI pulled a cherry cough drop from my pocketeven though he had declined. Tough guy.That I heard it clink against his teeth.That I still
These hips chime like a wordy clock; I mock some god with symmetry and blackened feet. Prophet of Christ, of wet, bend not thy knee ⠀⠀⠀ but thy neck; dwell thickly between
cross the isthmus in time. i’ve uncorked the bottleneck for bottomless brunch & they’ve declined the dashing—limbs torpedoed moments prior to repose—while i stroll away on the strand. ⠀⠀⠀ i deliver news
Arachnida God sent a web, its filaments a hymn of deception, a net of mercy to save the prophet from his enemies. Another story goes time folded into itself— a wrinkle, a
I come to this place when sentiments arise that I can’t revive in polite conversation. Like when The Wanderer comes on the radio at work and I’m reminded of how it was
Survival Kills You no longer maintain loyalty to land or certificates of existence. “Farrah” translates to “happiness”. With a slick tremor to the lower back, radio waves ( c r a s
Kami Enzie (he/him) is a Vienna-born, New Orleans-raised writer. Work appears in Chicago Review, The Glacier, Image, Oversound, The Poetry Review, and swamp pink. He is an alumnus of Tin House Winter
Our breath is louder on the silence of snowfall,but I can’t help missing the rain. Lately, I’ve curledinto the shape of his body until I’m formless, our sheetsclean but still hinting at
Wind Peace came at once. A cloud arrow that pierced my corpse alive. I’d been dead to all the birds and violets. It was a severance, the violent calm that ruptured a legacy
