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.
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.
I hold a star in my eye and a pistol in my hand.
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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