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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You never realize how little you know about death until someone dies and you’re left picking up the ashes. I mean that literally, even though it sounds like a great metaphor. It’s
as a man gathering flowersbeside the road, his totaledcar smoking in a ditch. dear lord, you can yank my chain as hard as you want,even if it hurts, as long as it
Gemma gets what she wants. All of the girls learn this, one way or another. When Violet has the nerve to take the last sparkling water, Gemma empties five cans of Diet
The other day, I read an article that reminded me of what happened with David. I was on the bus, skimming my news app, and then I realised how similar the story
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
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
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