The Swirling Eddies of EigengrauBy 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.
The Brain in ColourBy 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 ForeverBy 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 KnowBy 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
to the world’s echoing heartbeat
on being called a gaslighterBy 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.
Always at the top
Perfect Aryan halo on your head I would be the 0’s.
pool floatBy 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 physicsBy 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 DepartedBy 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
Runs in The FamilyBy 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 GateBy 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