Issue 03
entre/e Gabrielle Rodriguez Gonzalez
After lines by Sandra Lim Some kind of belief still runs off me in strings; Breadcrumb meal leading to censored center Certainty pulled from your teeth; stubborn tongue turned interior Watch the colors out, incessant whirring within the skin, engine purr. Readymade religion, wrestle with me, directive clear. Sink into intestinal tract, guzzle mucus lining, let me in. Proclaim your pristine personhood, make trachea beg, bend-knee bird-like. Mercy is such, a warm weight, on the tongue. I think my interior, it must be a killing machine, Exploratory mecha clutching onto organic tissue, Fissured fluid shifting joints in place, hinging delicious opportunity. Welcome the organism in, feel warmth stretch along the spine, savor the sunspot vision.
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