Browyn Hansen

A fingernail of moon is scratching at the curtain, which is closed like a border to the low-hanging night. Yet lamplight splays like the sun on her face.

She begins to dance like a child, a body pulled out of itself, surprised how it moves, arching backwards, shoulders that crest and trough, that coil like rope.

She laughs at her shadow, dancing with her, cast like a Brocken spectre on the wall. I catch my own, huge, and we balloon into darkness, our penumbras

blur into dreams and six feet apart, too far to embrace our shadows clasp and we feel a synesthetic closeness, an imagined touch as those shapes coalesce.

We are muscle and bone thinned to paper, shadow carved into brickwork. I fear you are still just a trick of the light, from screen to wall and maybe back again.

And somewhere, under different skies, where professors don’t lecture to empty seats, those pale imitations might peel away, dance noiseless down corridors made for screaming, skin fused

Bronwyn Hansen

Bronwyn Hansen

Theo Barnett

on skin and somewhere his hand softens into her waist and somewhere the blossom might loosen from its branches, might flake like ash,

Shadow Puppets Amber Marino 9 25

might fall

Terrible Haikus Estella Nouri

You are invited To peruse and be amused. Terrible haikus!

Here comes the Rat King! Serene sewer dweller, he’s Tired of your shit.

Ersatz yoga blocks: Infinite Jest, the Bible – They’re unreadable!

Lazily circling, Two flies live in my room now: They’re not paying rent.

Look! Kermit the Frog! He conceptualises Nietzsche’s Übermensch.

The time has come For my reckoning with Simone. She’s terrifying.

The son of man, did. Divine influence: action! Next up, Charlemagne.

My apologies This was totally needless. 10 Forget you read this.