March 2017

Back to Issue 1

to follow the room through its door

By Nathan Shepherdson

although this echo ←

was caught murdering our sound

they still lowered our bodies

into each other’s ears

until we could not hear

what we were saying →


now they expect us

to remove the skin

from the candle


in wax resist our portraits sting

as much as the incor/rectly dial/led

phone number of a hornet


in uncurtained red

our emergencies always seem closer

than they really are


now they expect us

to have our corneas stacked

at either end of this sentence

to calmly patent our veins

as a new form of writing

that can safely diffuse blood

through ag-pipe pores

under a dead language


even without hands

the onus is on us

to reshuffle glass cards


( ⇄ )


every day

you stand under the question mark

you had made into a shower head

& present yourself with an award

for becoming the drain


there are only five minutes in a lifetime

when you can sell your head back to the womb

to make yourself a prophet


as it turns out

you will not be given permission

to replant memories into your eyeball


you can however

use your eyelashes as a rake

to till the mirror


this is the line in which you will dredge for silence ←


(                 )


the exit sign is breathing →