poetry

What it is to be a dybbuk who has travelled from Somerville to Brighton, by E. Lev Arbeter

The opposite of a body, but in a body. In where blood is, and marrow,and everything around and in between. To live without living in between fingernails and flesh. To operate a body towards want, and only want.The opposite of breath and metal, all lack, and navigating above concrete in a body walking across the …

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Ghost Towns: A Cultural Resources Survey Report from the 2020-21 Field Season, by Sara E. Palmer

In the first spring I hide from the plague in a pale rain above Schet-cheet-qua-chub,fading into the timber at the end of the world.I owed that hill something, even before it hid me,and I think it took it.łaska khalakwati-stik, łaska t’uɁan,they are older and harder than meand they can take damn near anything(except chainsaws) casting …

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All the Trees That Have Perished Alongside My Childhood, by Bogi Takács

               “I tend to refer to most of it as the territory of Ghost Soil. It certainly isn’t a narrow genre. Whatever you call it, it should dance away from easy definition. […] [F]or me, part of it was a knowing that given the way the national narrative was going, this vital space was going to …

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