a quarter fist full of grief.

Ra’ahe Khayat

Fallen Alone


(lover is a loose term,
looser than the women you lose you nights to.
i have come to loathe those nights.)

a pavement grows between my ring finger
and your thumb,
as if we are retracing our steps
back and forth between our miscalculations

watching as the the curtains freeze
into something colder than a dried oasis,
on mornings when
there are dust specks near the windows
blinking in and out of continuity;

you’re always closer
when i’m half hanging at the doors-
when the clouds swallow themselves though.

an entire evening wraps her legs
around your waist,
but you only care enough to see
luna wried into a snowflake
between my teeth-

half struggling for breath,
and half struggling for the high that comes with being

you’re slowly forgetting
the urge that made you paint the bones under our skins
with the liquid apathy the sky…

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Heavy Rain

S.K. Nicholas

S. K. Nicholas


You fall asleep clutching a half-eaten packet of Quavers. Taking them from your hand, I place them in my lap and then rest my head on yours while looking out the window. It’s been raining since yesterday and won’t stop. Everywhere’s flooded. Even our hearts. With a little food in your belly, you felt much better, and after telling me the rest of your dream and how you ended up becoming a sunflower, the biggest one in the field, you told me you were going to close your eyes. You weren’t falling asleep though, you were quite adamant about that. Looking at me suspiciously, you eventually closed them and nestled yourself against my shoulder. When I spoke your name, you moaned a little and fell silent. It’s half an hour until the bus takes us to the stop at the bottom of my road, so plenty of time for…

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Erich Michaels



I’m enthusiastically solipsistic

I’m quick to say, “Sorry, I missed it.”

I’m an introverted panenhenic mystic

I’m twisted, conflicted, unscripted

I’m an uncommitted, sick kid, as predicted

I’ve been called a dipshit

Cuz I don’t buy the hip shit

My mind just flips shit

Into a guilt trip

For not exercising self-censorship

My brain has a hair trigger, pistol grip

100 road trips with only 1 roach clip

I care too much about the fellowship

Of man

But goddamn

Let’s devise a plan

To save our land, air and water

I know we can, if we care about sons and


I’m a panster not a plotter

Life’s my alma mater

I matriculated from The Illustrated Man

As anticipated it integrated a sense of

Who I am

It originated my articulated defense of

Where I stand

A denigrated, insulated, and incensed

Peter Pan

Second star to the right and straight…

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A Woman’s Blue

Aakriti Kuntal

Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Inside the turbid head of the blue lake
a blue sky, a blue light, a blue mouth,
blue eyes, blue skin, skin in motion,
skin in water

Skin is sound, skin is concentric,
large wide gallops occur like age,
like music
the stagnant boil of winter
as she preserves her breath
Carefully weeding out
life from life
Splitting breath from breath
Such is the decoration of all time

I walk
above water
Between latent nights and
cold potato evenings
I walk on water
Gaze at a perforated universe
wrestling for vacuum inside tunnels
of bread-like feet

I walk
over water
Build an arc
with my arms of falling light
Skin is a lengthy delusion
as it reflects onto my face
The mockery of all light
Skin is a lengthy delusion
as it dances above my lip
‘Blue, blue, it’s a woman’s blue’
I say
as the lake sings beneath…

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Melodies Beneath the Ocean

Daffni Ginger


I walk in to find him reading my diary and while part of me wants to rip it out of his hands I beg him to read it out loud. Watching his face as he reads my thoughts so differently then I think them makes me tingle in all ways divine. But the secrets aren’t there anymore. They’re read out loud for anyone to grasp, floating on moon rays and caffeine highs. I want him to tell me I write like some dead poet or maybe one that’s alive but most of my favorites are dead and gone. Well, besides him of course. I’ve heard that you act like those you’re around most and in the timeless place our souls dance I would think, but then again, I can’t figure out where I end and he begins. Are we one. How far have I drifted or have I become accustomed…

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To Be Flesh, To Be More

Allie Nelson of Dances with Tricksters

Dances with Tricksters

In the end you’re just meat, girl, a doll of blood and bone,
thus decay goes to flowers, and hellscapes bloom in snow, I
was born when ice and fire sparked into existence’s black maw,
but you are almost as ancient, the union of water and lightning,
amino acid dance into DNA, primeval ribonucleotides, a swimming
single celled blossom, fruiting into multicellular, now limbed
and mouth and anus and past blastocyst, oh bodily bearer, your
nightmares and fantasies are just projections of reptilian brain,
you know your biology, Krebs cycle from tired muscle, cytokines,
we are the stuff crocodiles are, time trapped in our gullet, so
as I finger and devour and eat and kiss and fuck, know death is
also a dance, bow, plie, caress, and don’t ever open your eyes,
because if you do, I will disappear to the shadow of nothing,
past the edge of midnight, where…

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