The Swirling Eddies of Eigengrau

By Joey Wu

You are trapped.

One day you awoke: a homunculus, immersed in a deep chasm of dark. You wander the confines in solitude, following the faint and ever-so-often beep that resonates through your lonely chamber.


By Madeleine Marder

“You want to join us?” She asks.

Before she knows me. Before she learns not to.

I shake my head. Tell her I’m happier inside with Caroline.

The Brain in Colour

By Natalie Nims

Isn’t it weird that we know the least about ourselves? As a species, we have conquered nations and created thousands of societies paired with complex languages. Yet, scientists still work to figure out the very thing that sits in all of our skulls. The brain. Where does every thought come from?

Bread is Forever

By Daria Volkova

The issue with a great deal of things in life is that they are impermanent. We’d like to think they last millennia, that wearing raccoon eyeliner won’t be a phase, Mom.

Letters 4-4 A.D.

By Bowie Bladee

Letters 4-4 A.D.

“Supersoaker, LG Smart Refrigerator,” par II

I hope you enjoyed my soliloquy. And I know you did--your mouth is practically open right now. Practically open... Yeah. I'm jotting that down.

All We Do Not Know

By Elena Unger

This morning I listened to an interview 

with poet Ada Limón. She spoke about 

epiphanies and didactic endings

and how sometimes a poet must surrender 

to the discomfort of unknowing.

How sometimes it is best to listen 


By Ziyi Yan

Mmm, you are a distracted assent, you coat like cold sweat,


like contented sleep.

And then you are songless– muh like mundane, buzzing of the lampshade fibers,


from the lamplight flicker.


By Shaun Loh

The credits recover,

and suddenly like a k9 you snuffle the criminal boyhood out of my skin.

I always think myself circumspect in my cover-ups, but in seconds you know where my blindspot is.

on being called a gaslighter

By Stephania Kontopanos

PART I: AI is created

I think God made you and me out of binary code You call me an enigma,

But I do not speak your language. You would be the 1’s.

Standing tall

Always at the top

Perfect Aryan halo on your head I would be the 0’s.


By Savannah Voth

Ocean wanders in to contemplate me

drafts a verse about my ankles in

twisting foam, scrambles the lines

and forgets. A mirror in the slick

afterthought of water on sand

where my feet sink in soft parchment

pool float

By Kayla Brethauer

Floating through space feels like lounging on a pool float. True, your float is no pool float.

It’s a slab of discarded metal lost in the wasteland of the universe, and it’s pulling you with it, too.

In another time - a whole other life -

Prince Myshkin discovers the laws of physics

By Savannah Voth

(1) every puzzle has an empty space, and a piece that never seems to fit


on the train in november I found

a duality called us (antithesis as mirror) sorry it is colder here than I remembered

and I am tired

of being called a dreamer

Questions for the Departed

By Lexi Newsom


Is how still the air is, standing

Is how grey the sky is, weeping

Is how red the fallen leaf is, dying

Is how green the grass is, living

Living, living, living

A breath in, a breath out

Taken for granted—granted, it’s


By Sumlina Alam

Under my umbrella,

I watch the clear drops descend.

They hurl, abiding gravity,

As they run, far away,

From the hands of the sky.

It makes sense for the clouds to darken,

To yowl in pain,

And to jolt fear across the land.

Runs in The Family

By Gaby Kill

the vents in my grandmother's old car blow

cigarette smoke at my left knuckles

and right forearm.

there's something so cold about crawling back to the house and home

where Caroline kicked me out for borrowing her water bottle

Sestina of the Man at Eternity's Gate

By Esther Cheng

Are these the pangs of birth or the aftershocks of death?

What awaits me beyond this shore?

And even now when legs and feet have failed me

The sand shows trails, like serpents, of this fragility

I bleed: the gravel grinds my skin and flesh