By Gabrielle Munslow So I bend my knee— the faithful kneel in the presence of the greater good. The embittered Eucharist wisps away during the final benison. So I kneel on a bed of nails, much like your halo of horns— devotion shaped by punishment, grace barbed in its design. Hot black wax drips between my breasts, baptises me in blasphemy. I rise, ash-smudged, smelling of candle smoke and salt, mouth still sweet with disbelief. I turn my head toward the other mourners. I rea

By Robert Lipton The geometries surround us, the drunk boys on the frat house steps, industrially incapable of irony, are still morose about losing something, to someone, this has parallelogram written all over their pusses. Two infinite lines of frat houses on Euclid, an equilaterally elaborate taco truck with no outside angles, squats on the corner, gravity dripping off it like liquid gerbils, Seurat painted a pear the size of a hot air balloon, but I measure all human di

By Daniel Sowa I ran, of course— laced my shoes with someone else’s hands, chased horizons stitched from their thread. How gallantly I stumbled over roots they never warned me about. The dream was always a tenant, never an heir: it wore another’s face in the mirror, left its fingerprints on my coffee cups, whispered 'almost' in a voice not mine. At night, I rehearsed their victories with tongues heavy as unopened letters. Even my shadow grew tired, bent like quest