Size / / /

Content warning:


Cradle the seed in your hands.
Cup the spark. Oh old gods please
do not let this brightness gutter.
Let me constellate filled with
brilliance insangelous let me be
stars let me be the last fading heat
of sinking sunset gilt and honeyed.
Let me luminate let me soften
and melt like glowing wax
let me linger in warm embrace
of soft-lipped women let me live
diaphanous. Let the wind fill me
let me rise inexorable let me burn
without burning out eternity
ephemeral. Let me blossom
and billow like feathered cotton
over fields of sunflower yellow
jewelled birds in calypsonian half-heard
melody. Let me sink saltwater
gentleness inevitable in stygian tides
let me form shadows in fog let me
tinge melancholy in the curl
of your mouth. Let me flourish
seed of pomegranate gleaming seed
blush of rosy dawn tranquillity
hush of echo resonating primordial
thief of fire. Let me grow into myself.
Let me deepen. Let my soul brew sweet
fermentation beneath dappled almond
and cherry and laurel and brambling
tangled aconite and stinging nettle.
Oh old gods if ever you had hearts
let my heart beat and continue beating
let me ripen before I wither please—
Let me live before I die.



Robin M. Eames is a disabled & dying queercrip writer/artist/activist living in Sydney, Australia. Their work appears or is upcoming in GlitterShip, Luna Station Quarterly, Glitterwolf, ARNA, Hermes, and the anthology Broken Worlds.
Current Issue
26 Sep 2022

Would a Teixcalaanli aristocrat look up at the sky, think of Lsel Station, and wonder—with Auden—"what doubtful act allows/ Our freedom in this English house/ our picnics in the sun"?
I propose that The Expanse and its ilk present us with a similar sentiment, in reverse—a warning that for all the promise of futurism and technological advancement, plenty of new, and perhaps much worse futures are right before us. In the course of outrunning la vieux monde, we may find that we are awaited not simply by new worlds to win, but also many more which may yet be lost.
where oil slurped up out of the dirt, they drink the coffee
Science fiction is a genre that continues to struggle with its own colonialist history, of which many of its portrayals of extractivism are a part. Science fiction is also a genre that has a history of being socially progressive and conscious – these are both truths.
Bring my stones, my bones, back to me
If we are to accept that the extractive unconscious is latent, is everywhere, part of everything, but unseen and unspoken, and killing us in our waking lives, then science fiction constitutes its dreams.
they are quoting Darwish at the picket & i am finally breathing again
Waste is profoundly shaping and changing our society and our way of living. Our daily mundane world always treats waste as a hidden structure, together with its whole ecosystem, and places it beyond our sight, to maintain the glories of contemporary life. But unfortunately, some are advantaged by this, while others suffer.
Like this woman, I am carrying the world on my back.
So we’re talking about a violence that supplants the histories of people and things, scrubbing them clean so that they can fuel the oppressive and unequal status quo it sustains.
Issue 21 Sep 2022
Issue 12 Sep 2022
Issue 5 Sep 2022
Issue 29 Aug 2022
By: Cat T.
Issue 22 Aug 2022
Issue 15 Aug 2022
Issue 8 Aug 2022
Issue 1 Aug 2022
Issue 18 Jul 2022
Issue 11 Jul 2022
Load More
%d bloggers like this: