By Jenni Thorne Dig. Dig deeper. Not with hands, but with the hunger that consumes its host, with the black-toothed maw of want that tears at flesh without restraint. Do not fear the deep. Gold is not for you, no riverbed glitter, those pallid flakes that catch the sun for shallow hearts. You seek the pressure-born scream, the jewel that bites through silence, that learns its name in pain. Gouge deeper. Deeper still. Like time forgot your shape, like the earth owes you a bloo

By Elizabeth Reames Vines are crawling out of my nose. I am vomiting roots. I gag, and a taproot splits my brainstem, spears its threads through my synapses—out of my eyes where tears should be, morning glories. My sweat is petals. My breasts leak honey. Vines are slithering out of my cunt—I am birthing. A lotus head rocks in the bowl of my pelvis, it breaches the birth canal, my walls strain, I push—bog water splashes out, warm as womb— I bear down again, I am caught in th

By Liz Kendall I ride the wolves, nestled into the hollow of corpuscles, borne on their bloodstreams, eddied and swelled. Borne to the muscles for tension and flex, borne to the organs for satisfaction, borne on the breath, the chasmed tongue a wadi for blood. A wolf’s tongue is oasis, sand-rough sucking poolshielded by night’s ridged palate, each ivory tooth its own bleak law of gravity. Dark wet heat in the heart of the forest, ice melts at the thought. What is instinct