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Concrescence
by Mike Towey
This is a fumbling towards chaos
No whimpering in dark memories
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2 poems
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Let me cut my finger: Understanding the complex love of a mother
by Rossana Segovia
“You’re going to hurt yourself, let me do it.”
My mother snatched the kitchen knife from my hand and pressed the vegetables gently against the wooden board, raising the knife edge to create thin, uniform cuts, forming perfect circles and cubes for the soup she had cooked but would present to the family as my original dish.
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A Wing-stroked Spectacle
by Daniel Moreschi
Read More »Segmented sets of starlings sharply elevate
towards candescent skies, suspend, then circulate
in sync. Their wingspans whisper sunset symphonies
while manifesting silhouetted symmetries.
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Clay figures
by Kyla-Yến Huỳnh Giffin
Read More »The snow falls, but it doesn’t land.
The roads scream when I drive over them.
Birds waltz over power lines and take dust baths in the ground-up concrete.
I grow a plant indoors that knows nothing of how much of the earth is no longer alive.
This world so rarely makes sense.
Surely we’re all just pretending to understand it?
Surely we’re all just acting as if we’ve got it under control?
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My Little Demon
by Rowan Moskowitz
I have a little demon on my shoulder. Not the type who whispers in my ear encouraging me to do bad things to others like in a stereotypical cartoon setting, but more so one that whispers insults and lies to me. It’s my own personal bully, following me wherever I go and reminding me of all the things that could go wrong. Then? It tells me how I deserve it, claiming that I ruin everything and just bother people with my presence. It makes me feel as if I’m back in middle school sometimes, memories of childish insults being thrown my way all coming back in one quick swift like a gust of wind that’s never ending.
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The Uncanny: 2 prose poems
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Call the Folk Police
a song by Ben Macnair
Give a listen to the first original piece of music on our webzine below.
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