Table of Contents | 24 February 2014
Tonight, we are [Ajax]. We die of pride by the sea.
the first green of raw / almonds
In dust-masks and coveralls, rustling, crouched / in your white forensic tent
I found seashells in my cereal this morning
dead teen folded on the tiny back seat
breakfast: 70 boxes granola (no raisins)
"Cactus?" Abby shrieks. / "This isn't going to be like that weird salad, is it?"
They say you will be different, / having gone through death / before preservation
I have never owned a crowbar.
I hold a star in my eye and a pistol in my hand.
For this special issue of Strange Horizons , our three poetry editors set out to describe their visions for speculative poetry. This is where they ended up.
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the February issues of Strange Horizons .
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents poetry from the February issues of Strange Horizons .
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