Lynne Sargent I grind your cum into the corner of the mattress before sealing my whole sodden thing with my underwear. Grind because my body remembers yours beneath it. It is still primed for pleasure. Cum because it is the orgasmic that is of importance. Not reproduction, not shame. Into...
Glen Huser [mks_dropcap style=”letter” size=”52″ bg_color=”#ffffff” txt_color=”#000000″]W[/mks_dropcap]hen the Laundromat that anchored the west corner of his high rise was transformed into a coffee shop, Adam celebrated by inviting his two...
N. Page Shear my hair to its roots, ‘til I’m bare. I’m ready to reset, to begin again as whoever I was three years before. Shampoo intruded on my eyes too often anyway, and pomade was stubborn, took hours to wash away. My clothes started to bully me. My kicks kicked back. The jewellery...
Minying Huang lăo lao sits in lotus position on the bed, the end of the world in her belly. she is curiously absent in the room, looks the eternal to my fidget. Yíng Yíng twiddles her thumbs to shake the absence off the covers but still she will not budge. listen, kid, to time as it...
Alex Leslie We All Need to Eat (Book*hug, 2018) is a collection of linked stories from award-winning author Alex Leslie that revolves around Soma, a young queer woman in Vancouver. Through thoughtful and probing narratives, each story chronicles a sea change in Soma’s life. Lyrical, gritty...
Maggie Burton Through hinged-open double hung windows, the house winked at us, saw us holding hands when no one was allowed to see. Keeping our secrets, they kept out nothing else. The wind knew no limits. Would’ve been easy, you supposed, to figure out insulation, to heat tall ceilings...
Isabella Wang It’s been weeks without a poem and you wonder how you are still getting invited to readings. Haven’t they figured you out by now? You bring the same year-old poems and read until words that hurt like the thorns of a blackberry bush lose meaning. Outside, sunflowers bobble...
Cat Friesen Found poem using an interview with Trump If you remember, you were going down, choking on control like never before; it was only going to get worse. You announced the building of walls, cutting all the things you’ve done into thousands of neat negotiations. You were strangled by...
Kegan McFadden he got a nosebleed , and as a counter- measure sneezed onto the bouquet of white daisies he’d bought on his walk to the Italian restaurant , confusing the real point of the story— spring was in the air. Originally from Winnipeg, writer/curator/artist Kegan McFadden now...
