February 12, 2018

Art by Collin Beck


Love, amputated. How pins and needles feels oddly sensual, a phantom limb, if for only a moment, your body betraying your body. Limp and inescapable. Boneless. 

I stopped eating animal flesh when I felt the tendons connecting tissue with my ton...

November 8, 2017


I self-censor constantly. I tell the magic to Stop! 

Tell the magic things like Whisper 

into the ears of another and 

I’m not ready yet. The magic obliges—

that polite, calculating little fucker. 

The magic has its tricks, too, this I know, but still,

I fall for...

September 29, 2017

A Stain in the Shape of a Cigarette Burn

After Kim Yideum

Had my Mother known both of her daughters would be childless & queer/Would she have found the last wire hanger/Riverside, California/Put on her stiletto heels and Passion-Pink lipstick/& found another man to Step-...

September 27, 2017


What I mean when I say I want to go dancing is that I need to feel the tremors of music earthquaking my lungs. That my lungs have filled with some kind of fluid and I am coughing it up. That pneumonia can only be cured, some nights, by high-heeled bl...

September 4, 2017

When things are bad I think shitdamn, finally something to write about. 

My body has never belonged to me.  It was my mother’s, captive under her rib cage.  It belonged to my parents, bodies staking claims to my features.  It belonged to porn and fantasy, took its only...

March 4, 2017

To claim the affection of someone who you pretend is dead is to be loved into perpetuity.  I am accustomed to losing layers over time and I made the recommended changes long ago.  Newsprint fingers are a thing of the past and for all I care world events can float throu...

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