What of what the cat, in its curiosity, killed?

One comic by Caoimhe Harlock.

I STILL GO OUT EVERY NIGHT DETERMINED TO COME BACK BRUISED.

Chasing Magic: Ayodele Casel, filmed by Kurt Csolak and directed by Torya Beard, New York City, opens by briefly focusing on a Twyla Tharp quote painted on the brick exterior of the Joyce Theater: Art is the only way to run away without leaving home, a quote that has new resonance in these times of isolation and lockdown amid the ever-evolving COVID-19 pandemic.

Above the North Atlantic, his lola miles away––her endless hands his face hasn’t fallen into since ‘03, a red hibiscus perched on her windowsill he’s forgotten the scent of.

Two hybrid pieces by Sara Elkamel.

I dust my hands and shoes with ash for comfort and protection

Spooked by his softness, he fled to the forest.

Consider the quotidian horrors—this life your 80s sitcom with a laugh-track, the audience who knows how this ends.

I do not have the stomach to even kill that black widow, her body so shiny in the sun. I cannot release whatever is inside her.

4 photos by Kylie Dawn.

the glowing,/torch-stricken thing I couldn’t quit.

We inherit these concepts of who we are from our parents, and I appreciate the things my mother taught me, but sometimes the concepts we inherit are outdated or troubling.

Two comics by Coyote Shook.

As in, a body spared from its owner, jerked/onto a splotchy mattress

an infatuation with the idea of my skin

I’m a lot closer to the middle-aged soprano I’ve always wanted to be, but working on this project has made me take a backwards look at a very long shadow.

Reading these poems, I am struck by Choi’s relentless and acute attention to how the everyday becomes shot through with material effluents when living in a postwar national economy driven by industrial manufacturing.

The engorgement of portraits: white man after white man after white man on white horses over a mountain of dead bodies in battle. That was the final straw for me.

One hybrid piece by Alissa Tu.

One comic by Mikoto.

This book made my life, my breaking, my joy something other than a spectacle for the white gaze.

I was a carpenter bee bounty hunter once.

During drought or worse conditions, they can curl up and sleep in suspended animation for decades like tiny interstellar astronauts.

those glass doors that were left unlocked/since people like this can afford to trust

Remember the fire too easily extinguished/along the tongue’s long hallway

How neither of us/were made to debut in the kitchen out of our own/physical hunger, except if you believe grief too has a growl,/has a belly.

In the future, we find our names on/hurricane watch lists.