‘Syllables are excised by / X-Acto, fed into a shredder / for good measure.’
Blank’s destroyed, gap
buried at sea, rendition
ordered for empty space,
a lacuna waterboarded.
Syllables are excised by
X-Acto, fed into a shredder
for good measure. Then,
the sheet’s copied, cleared
for release. These chasms,
like shoots that furl along
cement’s cracks, seek sun,
hiss of the particular—
broken noses, heels rubbed
into watery blisters, razor
wire girding the horizon
like flocks of dark birds.
Image © Ken Brown
‘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.
‘When and where does the crisis of war begin and end?’
Y-Dang Troeung on the longevity of war.
‘Words only point to experience, they can’t replace it.’
Vanessa Onwuemezi and Colin Herd discuss UFOs, relation, and the search for an inner sense of home.
‘Always I tell myself: yes, you transmit but do they, the readers, receive?’
Colin Grant on distilling truth in memoir.
