Ersatzwörter
Berlin, November Today the U-Bahn wasn’t running so I took the Ersatzverkehr, and it made me think of you back home, two summers ago, when we were friends again, and sitting in a square of June sunlight on the floor of David’s room. What I can’t say with words I try to say [&hell
Marginalia
Words by Danann Kilburn. Art by Poppy Williams.
Noticing
I know where the spoons go now and the mugs. Afternoon-slow. The first weeks meandered, chipped ceramic mugs wobbling with hot tea. You hum to the tap tap tap of the knife, noise lost in thick, citrus air. You leave the butter on the shelf so that it stays soft. Home of turned backs, [&hellip
fragments: a series
11.5.22 18:08 [the fear/the hope] to be good to be bad to be forgettable to be unforgettable social experiment 20.5.22 13:38 [part-hearted] unhinge me, move me i am already undone put me back together, but leave me alone! pull me up, down, turn me inside out you lift me up, can spin me roun
Tres Poemas de la Generación del 27
Words by Iona Blair. Art by Betsy McGrath.
The Halcyon Days
Summer opens like flesh giving way to a blade. The sky is as pale and quiet as bone. The golden tap of the sun sprays against my face and soaks into my skin: these are halcyon days. Summer rain descends like a dream, deeper than sleep. I open my mouth and water rushes in. A […]
Temporalities
i. The Louvre, Paris and we are gilded spires opaque pearlescent rounds smooth skimmed surfaces you could hold under your tongue set into a crown and call jewels. a feeling of falling mid-breath, a hazy periphery and a spotlight. we are tilting, scintillating in light slowed in mind’s
Undertow
I, clinging, algae-strung, to the borders of you in this subterranean room, green wallpaper, mulching the curtain-washed light, dissolving clear morning in acid and spleen. your left hand gloomy in the dark, its moss-blotch stain of pencil l
The Angler
The angler, taken in isolation, waits in preparatory study, his rod cast out and off the edge of the tall tide, which nearly banks the sky. The brown of the grass seems to climb station and cloaks his closed frame in an ascending glow of rust. The scene is not new. The […