“Excavating A Point of Entanglement” by Sahar Khraibani

“This is how space begins,” writes Georges Perec “with words only, signs traced on the blank page. To describe space: to name it, to trace it, until in the end the land was only separated from the sea by a continuous ribbon of text.”   ***   I will begin with the act of pointing.    Lack masquerades itself as desire and desire takes the shape of a space. It pulses as the auto-focus on the camera hunts for the edge, or any point that settles it onto the horizon. She appears in the frame as a mere voice at … Continue reading “Excavating A Point of Entanglement” by Sahar Khraibani

“Thresholding” by Kat Bartlow

Myths tell of the hanged man as a fetus floating head-down, Suspended in some liminal fluid That fills the seamless space between the past and the future.    We are becoming more ourselves with every breath. I hear my heart mutter its name in my chest And then pause, listening for yours.    I do not have a promise for you or a ring to give you.  I cannot even gather words up in a sheaf to leave in a vase on your table. But I can place each of my hands in each of yours.  I can wait for … Continue reading “Thresholding” by Kat Bartlow

“Cockroaches of the Liberating Night” by Jack Lorenz A. Rivera

It is no wonder That cockroaches Fly, party, and thrive At night They feast on its darkness They sway on its shadows They flap their wings in glory At night For the night Is truly accepting Inviting, tempting, full of desires The night welcomes them In disco lights, in bars, in clubs In the narrow streets, in the corners No judgment, only acceptance In this beautiful, fabulous, avant-garde night For in the night Cockroaches can be butterflies And no one can smack their beautiful drags and make-ups With the slippers of the day, of that piercing ray Of reality, of … Continue reading “Cockroaches of the Liberating Night” by Jack Lorenz A. Rivera

“How to Make a Magic Mirror” by Lorraine Schein

NOTE: The following piece is a found poem, excerpted and rearranged by me from an out-of-print book on magic. How to Make a Magic Mirror   The natural fluid condenser is composed of a number of natural materials that have been powdered and mixed together in roughly equal proportions. Each of the ingredients has its own potent and unique association with the Moon. It is not strictly necessary to use all of the things listed, but at least half a dozen of the ingredients, or reasonable substitutes for them, should be combined. Very little powder is needed, scarcely more than … Continue reading “How to Make a Magic Mirror” by Lorraine Schein

“An Erasure of an Anonymous Comment Posted on the Planned Parenthood Action Facebook Page Part I and II,” by Kate Wilson

I. Alright. Rule number 1: take an at home test ONLY (because of rule 2) Rule number 2: tell no one. Not over text not over phone. No social media. Don’t even tell your best friend. Rule number 3: take a mini vacation to another state. Go under the guise to sightsee or to visit family. Go camping/ fishing/etc. Don’t ever tell anyone anything else Rule number 4: obtain the abortion and DO NOT sign any waivers. If you do not sign any waivers giving consent for even providers to communicate to other providers, you are safe. Rule number 5: … Continue reading “An Erasure of an Anonymous Comment Posted on the Planned Parenthood Action Facebook Page Part I and II,” by Kate Wilson

“Moving Parts” by Avra Margariti

One day, our house grew tall arachnid legs and ran away with us in it. We held onto the nearest furniture for balance and speculated about the house’s driving force, but deep down, all three of us were relieved. We wouldn’t have to make any hard choices then. We wouldn’t have to break all we had built together over the last three years. It didn’t take us long to get our sea legs. Our house took us wherever it wanted to, and we three went along for the ride. Each day a room crumbled away, and a new one appeared. … Continue reading “Moving Parts” by Avra Margariti

“Psychic Night” by Lorhenz Lacsa

psychic night your hands have never felt skin that thinks on its own; he intended to trick time, untick the clock, put his clavicle on your lips and you knew.   when he reddened your neck by tracing its shape as if to pin a map for a land to conquer, you quivered. A flag waved, he knew.   then slowly he entered with both a vow for something and a doubt somewhere— what’s missing and found, no one knew.   so you stared at the blank wall as he did, spaced by warm sheets, wounded alone. Smokes warped and … Continue reading “Psychic Night” by Lorhenz Lacsa

“The Elephants in the House” by Avra Margariti

The elephant in the room can’t breathe. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson sit around the dinner table with their two teenaged children. They talk, but only empty words drop from their mouths to rise above the clinking of cutlery. How was school? Fine. Pass the salt, please. Thank you. The next day, the elephant in the room has split down the middle, dividing like an amoeba into two identical pachyderms. One hangs from the light fixture while the other hides behind the cream curtains, pressed up against the dining-room bay windows. Every passer-by on Sycamore Street can see the elephant, but … Continue reading “The Elephants in the House” by Avra Margariti

“First as Tragedy, Then as Tragedy: on Christian Petzold’s ‘Transit’” by Oscar Mardell

They say about this land that the projectiles of the last war unearthed the projectiles of the one before. – Anna Seghers, The Seventh Cross (trans. Margot Bettauer Dembo) But war, of course, consists not only of projectiles but of peripatetics: every legion of soldiers produces another of refugees. And few have been more sensitive to this facet of conflict than Seghers herself, whose 1944 novel Transit showed that ‘war’ is not merely ‘Hell’ but Purgatory also, not just ‘The End’ for the deployed but a ghastly intermediary for the displaced – whom it condemns to wander indefinitely, and to … Continue reading “First as Tragedy, Then as Tragedy: on Christian Petzold’s ‘Transit’” by Oscar Mardell

“Anhedonis, Anhedonia” by Aïcha Martine

  ` I am tired of worrying my youth away, I am tired of being worried, I am tired You want to hold on to it, that certain lightness of being You said child, child: once it goes, never comes your way again ` Simone says “ain’t nobody perfect ’cause ain’t nobody free” Couldn’t be perfect, lightness forbid, could never be free I am tired of worrying my youth away, I am tired of being worried, I am tired ` Only have my words, warping the Eye turned toward the world Yearn to reach those masterful heights, paralyzed by victory … Continue reading “Anhedonis, Anhedonia” by Aïcha Martine