Our tales
Discover strange, intimate experiments in language, form, and feeling from emerging and established creators.
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In the zoetrope of everyone else’s rising, Trapped and still falling behind, Why can’t I cover myself with these pictures Of weddings, dining parties, And vacations to get a little bit of elevation? You’d think it would rub off, all their smiles, Instead, warnings are pinned to me, Until access is denied, taking away any…
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The ship drifts across the skyline, Beyond the pull of tides, A vessel set free from its destruction To be chained to endless repetition. Those on the deck, at the wheel, Have all the time in the world But nothing of expression, No inkling of what they’re doing there. They’ve become their own memories But…
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She looked exhausted. She was still in her blue cleaning uniform, likely comingstraight from work. A sour trace of sweat clung to her. “When we got married, he promised we’d settle in the city,” she said. “I’ll burnhim the grandest paper villa.” I handed her the price list. Housing in Guangzhou was impossibly expensive. A…
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I have not eaten any of your poems, trueMy teeth went through and parted themBefore I realized that they were only clear, wet, And bittersweet, nothing to digestExcept a tide of highlights, verbal kicksNot worth absorbing or breaking down. I am not saying your words did not glow,For I held your lines up at nightTo…
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If reincarnation was a possibility I know what I would dream of most fondly. To rise after my fall as an Iris The flower of faith, hope, courage and wisdom All of which are qualities to maintain and desire. A flower surrounded by greenery With beauty so captivating that passersby can only stop to admire…
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It was a dream—yes, nothing but a dream, pretending to be awake. When he took his first breath, he did not know who—or what—he was. They told him he was immortal, but that was a cruel lie. His hands were stained and tainted black by time, his feet scorched and cracked from walking this earth for millions of…
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He ground his wife’s bones to use as paint. He could not fathom why she remained dead—strange, strange indeed. He tilted his head; his fingers, not trembling—yes, they were not trembling. Why would they? He looked at his hand, pausing, covered in her blood; it leaked from the brush onto his fingers. “Fascinating,” he whispered,…