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
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
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
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
LITANY WITH CHERRY BLOSSOMS Seppuku summer, and you cut my hair so shortI pretend I am the boymy parents want me to bethough I wish I could be nobodyas you sweep the
I wake up in a room that I have never seen empty.It takes my body more than a few minutes to un-ampersand.It feels like remembering snow in the absence of snow. Like running the tonguearound the teeth
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
“But though I tried so hard, my little darlin’, I couldn’t keep the night from coming in.” – Joanna Newsom crushed into powder I might be poison or potion I don’t know
BurningFor Mamoni Raisom Goswami When they lifted you up to the pyre, you were all red. Lips painted, eyebrows seething, skinwrapped in the crimson of your mother’s mekhela sador. Your face crinkled
Landscape Standing on the Circle K bat bridge, I’m lonelyin that selfish way. My car, parked in the lot,smokes from the hood when I push forty-fiveand my phone is busted. I have
