Drhnoucí řeč
Nevyřčený zvuk se svírá v čtvrthrst slov, přečtěte smršť třpytů ztracených v záhybech řeči. Skřípání štěrků štípe zuby i jazyk, čtvrť věty se láme v neklidném drnčení, řeč drhne—ztrácí…
Praag Dooit
Klokken rekken zich, stenen strekken, smeltwater ruist door kasseien, druppels vloeien, adem ontstaat. De Vltava rilt, splijt haar huid, mist vlucht, bruggen dampen, de stad vervaagt in rimpelend licht. Stemmen…
The Pour
She begins brittle, tightly curled, a rustle of dry whispers waiting for a reason to unfurl. I linger, calm and quiet, until her need stirs me, kindling the flame that…
Bric-à-Brac Babel
Beneath a tattered coat, it haunts the street, A mongrel tongue with mischief in its eyes. It lifts what other languages repeat, Then cobbles words and swears it’s neat…
I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself by Marisa Crane
Marisa Crane's speculative fiction book I Keep My Exoskeletons to Myself is exactly as fascinating—and rather delightfully odd—as its title. Crane creates a story that creeps carefully beneath your skin and puts down roots by fusing speculative components with profoundly human vulnerability. Crane invites us to a universe where criminal punishment is demonstrated physically as extra shadows—visible reminders of guilt and shame—and she does so with language that moves between poetic tenderness a…
On A Winter Mourning
Beneath the willow's frozen, brittle shade, I mourn the garden buried deep in frost. The tender shoots that once began to fade, Now sleep beneath the ice, forever…