where does that leave us
by Adam Zachary on April 17, 2017
1 from a series of 4, this is a visual found poem (graphite on paper) assembled from sentences in letters/texts/emails written between an ex-partner & myself during a long drawn-out breakup.
by nikole jewell on February 17, 2017
ramune and lavender
jawbone with zero and kim kardashian
kim kardashian with stained glass light
umeboshi and psilocybin mushroom
amber and salt lamp
night light and pink wax
pear and white lime
pearl wool and corn syrup
stopwatch and sheep teeth
sapphire and tire track
by Demi Richardson on February 15, 2017
there is love in the way of you,
and at the fair,
cotton candy sticking to everything you touch
the inside of my wrist you can
taste my pulse –)
I lost you in a house of mirrors,
which is to say,
I maybe meant to lose you.
by Michael O'Ryan on February 1, 2017
Radical slow-jam cartography. Night-
swimming in the wake of several broken
promises. This was a storm taking root
in alluvial cognition. Snow-blind
fingertips navigating aspen bark stood no
chance against the blizzard; gravitropism
is lost on havoc. The human brain is
nature’s most obsolete supercomputer.
by Alizée Lenox on January 24, 2017
1. Mechanic blue skies reflecting the shape of my body de-bossed in your memory foam mattress.
2. No more honest surfaces here but a wide choice of hotels. The idea of tourists leaving the imprint of their skulls on mattresses all over the city is scary. I am curious about the potential massive shapes created over nights over bodies & nights heap over bodies against bodies until the trip is over.
3. A new hardness is felt when I think of our coordinates. Soft pores entangled like bike chains.
4. When my back bends like a spoon. Hitting jello at 200 mph.
5. Cause it’s zero to sixty in three point five. Smoother than a limousine. Can you handle the curves, can you run all the lights. It’s only about accepting the consequences of sounds and quoting Rihanna.
6. I want to know if I am really made of stone and sugar when I engage with the strength of the wind until my eyes cry independently of my neural tissues. Tears tasting like coconut.
7. Sometimes I am an endless coconut waterfall then.
8. I look up a survey to know which object I can be, based on my performativity. Halfway through I feel the stickiness of my muscles covered with price tags.
9. I choose to be a menthol capsule in a cigarette filter that you can crush right before you kiss.
10. But really when asleep, I am nothing but an oxygen thief.