The Spring 2017 issue of Deluge has finally arrived! It features work by:
“I designed this mystery to be heavy / grieving against earwigs / my lived-in routines / I’m desperate for a blow up in my life”
“When the red cloud comes / hang yellow satin over the windows”
“One woe man’s terrorist / is another’s brofest tourist”
“we need a better word / for our lucha / we need a Latinx”
“I will look for you inside this / movie they show at school. A guide / to know my own body. I want / to understand when to balance & / when to paint over my footsteps left / on the walls. I want to be good to someone else / someday. To keep coming up.”
-JULIA COHEN & ABBY HAGLER
“sinking wet fingers in our early blood / cat-masked in our sleeping bags / next to the closet”
“THIS IS THE SOUND OF HONEYSPIGOT, HONEYSPIGOT.”
“Now the play is free to follow its own viral genius. It gathers in the bladder ducts. It strip-mines the genitals for diamonds and rare earth metals. Then it vaults, limb-by-limb, toward the heart and head.”
“sugar tongue lights at / the touch of enamel, remembering / the taste of a hornet / that never belong to me”
“A copper sun has replaced the slate / moon, the police tape blows in the / breeze, people walk around it, someone / has swept the sidewalk, the garden needs / weeding”
“How thin must I keep my coverage in order to feel all this horror?”
“a florescent halo of data / floating through static / tangled into her hair / a terabyte, an sd card, a cloud / archives of text / overworked articles analyzing / the historical implications of deleted tweets”
“But please, mister owl, / I beg you not / To make you a schema / Of me.”
“Dare I talk about the delirium involved in all-day drives?”
“the highway, its inbuilt purpose, hearing static chew pop songs / on the radio like lumps of gum with dirt in them, gazing through / frames grayed by runny splays of what were once shiny flying bugs”
“women burned / in lacerated sleep / along the wharves / burned / coitally / from her own / lung / & ribcage”
“Then, the clock inside her strikes”
“a zone of opinions wombs this birth object / my bot plays with it / the palmworld covers its mouth / birth object you will always be here, the palmworld says, / nested in a comment thread”
“what else is there / already used three breaths / all parts pleasure and fear / lots of folks with jobs / will produce this child of queers / who knows”
“The left thrives when people are unhappy. / The right wants everyone to have the same memories.”
“There are kinds of anger / you can’t avoid / being placed on you.”
“Through the trees to endure the leveling march of industry / to pass on.”
READ ALL OF DELUGE 8 [HERE]