a quarterly poetry zine

Self-Portrait as a Shadow in a Landlocked Town

by Sarah Lee

Shadows on dry ground don’t bend

like those on water, rippling through its many blisses,

but snap to an angle harsh to the body,

jagged at the edges lonely for an existence

that's soft to the touch, as if the only sound

it could make is the whispered assurance

of a bird that can necklace the crown of any tree.

I could lean myself into an I on every building,

arrow my legs to a target only I can see, briefly, temporarily,

tower over the road signs with limits I must pay to break, even

turn my dirt-packed nails into the teeth of rabbits

on the walls of any room. But none of that matters

when I will fall and only follow and never outrun the sun.

Minnesota, January

by Anya Johanna DeNiro

Build an altar

Burn it

Watch Anaconda

death squads

Anya Johanna DeNiro is a trans woman and writer in St. Paul, Minnesota. Her chapbook From the Yew came out from Ethel last year.

SKINFOLD by Audrey Kim

Thy Wee Bit Housie by Ryan Farrell

POET BIO: Ryan Farrell is a middle school English teacher in Ohio. He enjoys writing poetry in his spare time. He likes animals.

THE PASSENGER by Audrey Kim

POET BIO: Audrey Kim is a student in Connecticut. She is editing her first manuscript, and has been recently accepted for publication with the Academy of Heart and Mind. Follow her on Instagram at @axdreykim.

The Clockmaker's Garden by Zebo Zukhriddinova

POET BIO: Zebo Zukhriddinova was born in Uzbekistan, drawing poetic inspiration from her homeland’s colors, traditions, and enduring spirit. Follow her on Instagram at @Z.z.zebo.

IS THERE EVIDENCE OF GOD? by Vesper

POET BIO: Vesper is a cripple punk, trans, queer poet from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His work is available to read at https://officialvesperpoetry.carrd.co/. Follow him on Instagram @official__vesper.

21 by Anders Crawford

POET BIO: Anders Crawford is an Arkansan. His work is shaped by queer experience, rural life, and the quiet pressures of place. Find him on BlueSky at anderscrawford.bsky.social.

You by R James Sennett Jr

R James Sennett Jr lives, works, breathes, and chases his muse in Louisville, Kentucky. His poetry has appeared in numerous publications for which he is grateful.

from Fair bodies of unseen prose,

by rob mclennan

Inside doubt as you might burnish a shove.

To reframe, most modest scaffolding. Blood slows the feet. The green was not green was

not red. Was not yellow. See, looking. This cool shadow of trees. Confessed, prehistoric.

Hope is a thing. As time passes. Challenged. Breath held, long enough. Chords, scorched.

Earth. Featherless, sapling. To reside is not probable. Best, into openness. Grammar, uncut.

This restricted, compliance. You too could be occupied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

, though your thoughts will not recline.

Nascent. The same opposite, seen. How slowly, divine. Do I draw water. Out loud, like

tennis. Trellis. The whole of poetry. So that what follows, precedes. A perspective, pantone.

After a while. To lead, to perplexity. Follow. Newtonian laws. No greater complaint. What

colour, is this. Is this year. This symptom of skin. Unravels. A boatload, of speech. The good

night of my chill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

mud, regardless.

To watch the slow fuse. Stove display, flash. Interrupted. A kind of moon. We yield empty

buckets. Mottled, sensory. The tides narrow, rise. Smoke floats, grey. In the English manner.

This tightrope, unfolds. This side of panic. Interlaced, underlined. Underscored. A

torchlight, halved. In a curious manner. Recalcitrant, divine. To mend. Settling into, refusal.

Unstructured. The sky furrowed, distant.

Born in Ottawa, Canada’s glorious capital city, rob mclennan stlil lives there. His latest title is edgeless (Caitlin Press, 2026).

Self-Portrait as a Shadow in a Landlocked Town

by Sarah Lee

Shadows on dry ground don’t bend

like those on water, rippling through its many blisses,

but snap to an angle harsh to the body,

jagged at the edges lonely for an existence

that's soft to the touch, as if the only sound

it could make is the whispered assurance

of a bird that can necklace the crown of any tree.

I could lean myself into an I on every building,

arrow my legs to a target only I can see, briefly, temporarily,

tower over the road signs with limits I must pay to break, even

turn my dirt-packed nails into the teeth of rabbits

on the walls of any room. But none of that matters

when I will fall and only follow and never outrun the sun.

Gethsemane

by Julio César Villegas

storming cemeteries

halfway acid tripping

how did you do this

I beg each headstone

wildflowers bed you

wild boys wild elders

pretend they’re forever

out there but not here

doorbells are eyes now

camps scream in tongues

they return why not you

concentrate concentrate

please this isn’t a world

to live or leave yet leaves

rage as my only response

Palantir by Julio César Villegas.

POET BIO: Julio César Villegas: Born in San Juan, Puerto Rico — raised in Essex County, New Jersey. Puerto Rico Se Levanta. Read more at https://linktr.ee/jcvillegas.

THE PASSENGER by Audrey Kim

POET BIO: Audrey Kim is a student in Connecticut. She is editing her first manuscript, and has been recently accepted for publication with the Academy of Heart and Mind. Follow her on Instagram at @axdreykim.

SKINFOLD by Audrey Kim