Little Arson Grasses

By Jennifer Crow in Issue Seven, November 2022

If you love me, you will burn.
Put your cheek against mine
and feel the heat my bones
release into the world. We plant
ourselves in dry soil and gather

In and out of water

By Overcomer Ibiteye in Issue Seven, November 2022

There’s a fierce audacity about water:
the way it barges into palimpsest buildings unannounced
the way the buildings are sucked into a void
the way the water barrels our bodies into a concave
cross-referencing us with open tombs.

That Monster Beneath the Bed

By Beth Cato in Issue Seven, November 2022

bedtime is the worst
mama off giggling and cooing
with her latest boyfriend

me sent to my room
ordered not to come out

the thing beneath my bed
oozes out and wants to talk

The Blood Tithe

By J.D. Harlock in Issue Seven, November 2022

when the smog finally devoured the dying sun,
the creatures of the night
made a throne of the carnage
and a kingdom of the earth

S— Estate, After

By Sarah Cannavo in Issue Seven, November 2022

The dark house sits brooding, high on the hill;
heedless of time passing, of age and decay,
my love walked its halls—he’s roaming them still.

Time Travel

By Ashley Gilland in Issue Seven, November 2022

*Dedicated to my five-year-old self

It’s always me
in my carrot cake tweed jacket
its caramel collar taut around my neck
speckled with goosebumps

One-Way, Through the Fire

By Lin Darrow in Issue Seven, November 2022

It’s the first thing they tell you in Temporal Navigation 101:

Time is water,
But it knows no gentle ebb,
Only the rage and riot of rapids.
You can’t go back, the Temporists say;
The currents are too strong.

My FEMA trailer

By Gary Bloom in Issue Seven, November 2022

Early in the morning
I can hear my neighbor’s TV
Reverberating through the tin foil
Walls of her FEMA trailer

Paradiso: A Found Cyborg Poem

By Tiffany Morris in Issue Seven, November 2022

(taken from 2020s advertisements)

it’s written in the stars:
the ingeniously simple
magnetic mechanism
of the making process —

Let the Water in

By Vanessa Jae in Issue Six, September 2022

The earth tears at her concrete visage
until she can breathe through the cracks.

Listen to the viscous vows of retaliation
she presses through her stuffed throats: