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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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
With the sunset sharpness was lost, and like mist rising, quiet rose, quiet spread, the wind settled; loosely the world shook itself down to sleep, darkly here without a light to it,
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
Harrison Candelaria Fletcher is the author of Descanso for My Father (2012), Presentimiento (2016), and Finding Querencia: Essays from In Between (2022). His work has appeared widely in such venues as New
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
1.if you look closely—and you will—you’ll see not parts, but the suggestion of parts. the only limit isthe imagination, which naturally, turns to sex. did you ever play the original sims? did