‘Me always untorn and enslaved / Weird notions of gender and ground / Nothing but you between me and god.’
Falaq in Corpus Christi
Whose name means Dawn
Thorned down son drowns
Shorn the sun’s sound
Calls and wants to know if the soul has a gender
I am the son thrown down
Spoke noon sun mouth speak
Me always untorn and enslaved
Weird notions of gender and ground
Nothing but you between me and god
So I whisper to all the bonded women
Whose names mean Sunrise or Wind
What sweetness it is to call the bluffs
Of those who claim to know what god found
Photograph by sackerman519
‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
