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 Apr 2018
Rohan P
stellar masses collide
beyond you; they silhouette
your ethos, slip loose your
hair—
they pattern your fingertips
and colour your
sigh

their flame:
a colossus
in your eyes.
 Apr 2018
Rohan P
if i closed
you—

if the air fell
backwards, darkly—

if yours
brooked with golden
sunrise

softened (i love

when you
    dance.
 Apr 2018
Rohan P
yesterday, she
woke to the waving of
the grass

—bitter, golden,
lovable—

and she swept
the ridges and crests with
sunsets and understanding

like a feeling
of waving, waving
away.
on a rainy day, the smell of lemongrass is like the warmth of your memory.
 Apr 2018
Lora Lee
architectural mollusks
    are falloping through
                              my brain
                        squeezing past the
                         instincts that
        have kept me down
My instincts,
              once brittle sea stars
                          that splintered
                                    into cracked
                                 peppercorns,
                 are now mixed with
           the breathy liquid
        of squid,
lubrication for
the spiny paths ahead
They blow their ink
between my
inverted vertebrae
      injecting Jello into bone
                           busting through
                        fiber and tissue like
                          fresh-skimmed
                    lavacream
and all my muck
rises to the top
in a neon rawness
that I find beautiful

Soon
my burning crevices
will be cooled
fossils will turn to flesh
and, as sure as knowledge
springs into action
I will make
for the shoreline
like a cephalopod rocket
silky smooth
my fins spun into wings
touching magic
as they glide
It is time
 Apr 2018
Rohan P
her
tulips bloomed in the night,
       softer
than the paling
moon/       beams

darker silhouettes
—hers—lined the u’s
and i’s of turning. the headlights
skimmed the road, petalled
like ice.
 Mar 2018
Jennifer
fingertips tapping upon
translucent glass.
blurred skin on the opposite side,
pink, pressed up blotches of
arm and leg,
lip and ear,
hair and head.

alone on the other side,
lack of colour and lack of light.
watch them through the see-through wall,
just the swing of a bunched up fist
could break the fall.

the fall of light within the room,
the dim sound of laughter
from the other side,
the lack of voice that resides

on this side.
waiting is silent,
solitary in a cell of glass confinement.

an hour, another,
more time slips past,
when the room gets darker
so does the glass.
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