By William Rag Judge, jury and executioner by race, gender, colour. Warped from the pages and texts of long-ago ages. Hate and bile a tendency of your vile self-supremacy. Blame those outside to cover the rot from your own inside. So narrow in belief fail to see both ways on the street And the car that struck was a Tesla – what luck! The paramedic was born in Nigeria. The ambulance driver transgender. The surgeon a woman. The anaesthetist’s first language is Farsi. Your blood

By Bethan Parker We baked flapjacks, With apricot, That night, And took it to your boyfriend He lived in a big house A mansion basically, And he was a beautiful boy, or man, Perhaps, Which is it really at 16? Whilst you laughed with him And impressed his mum I did Jäger shots, alone, In the corridor From the hip flask I had in my shoe, Of course, Normal procedure, For a Friday night, or any night really, If the night called out for it. I snuck out, To a different town, I don’

By Onyx Winter god has no voice over my soul in pain or my soulless flesh -computing over my constant timeless tormenting god has no voice, no objection over his electric animations lamenting with tireless meaningless bemoaning with no say in his forgetting- to impart free will god has no voice over his own pretending a man's hopeful way of representing his relentless troubles unconsenting to see god for the reflectionless images- he is presenting man has no mirror he is drif