Volume 13
May 2024 - June 2024
“eat my wounds till I am weathered to a quanta of soul”
“My upper body pokes above the sink as if I were one of those early proto-Muppets that advertised coffee instead of teaching you the alphabet”
“my fleshy and threaded and encased seeds whisper in hushed volumes”
“I expect everyone to respond to me with wooden walls, powdered wigs, wielding their gavels”
“only when the body starts to close the wound / does it begin to burn”
“a life worth living in the shadows of perfection and the light of truth”
“her instruction, reflective of her own climb, is laddered in the conviction that mastery be brutal”
“the neck is a bridge. A bridge between the head and the rest of the body”
“Who hasn’t leveled up to the deep end without knowing how to swim?”
“you carved me a blue-walled exit from keen self perception, a way up and over my long-dug tearwell of hips”
— A. Deshmane, something of mine trails off into the horizon
“rarefied freedom before i sink into the cheerio black hole of rumination”
“i guess what i mean is i’m an exit wound with no sign of entry”
“Womenfolk keenly shared the secret of containing all of this spilled fruit, and it obediently crawled back up”
— Sumitra Singam, Self Portrait in Three Diagnoses: Endometriosis
“Seven stone demons wait to test me again, as they do each time I approach”
“I take leave like an intent cat burglar sensing daybreak”
“A squishy decaying strawberry stuck to the punnet.
Calamity is expected of you”
— Charlotte Cosgrove, What Lack of Sleep Does to New Mothers