No Contact: Closing Time
Four Spells
by Molly Zhu
He falls asleep on the morning
she reaches him. Instead, she
calls an Uber. Instead,
she’s being swallowed
by traffic.
Four Poems
by KB Brookins
While the industry of death–
political parties blaming bigotry on the innocent–
tries to lock our bodies under dirt,
we sign and seal ourselves
to god.
Crocodile Tears
by Michael Chang
it’s not
the first time
my mother
has yelled
“ whale !!! ”
at brendan fraser
What Is a Trans Woman?
by Zoa Coudret
when you consider she’s medium
and message, ancient and new, born
of recycled parts, no wonder they don’t all work
the way she wants—you can’t expect perfection
for any of nature’s bodies—yet she’s here,
she’s made it, baby!
@britneyspears Found Golden Shovel
by Alexa Norsby
Good. Oops,shall I start from the beginning? Me, coming out of a coffin every night for you,
years of dancing in the wrong direction, hoping this is it.
Hot House Honey
by Ori Fienberg
Morning is a blown compressor, air unmoved
though we’re all coiled and under intense pressure,
still.
