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Imagine an alien invasion. I'm talking about the mother
of all motherships. Oozing dripping grey tentacles
maim & rip open everyone at the party while you & I keep
vaping out here by the garage. Mango-flavored puffs just
thick enough to mask screams, to see in the night, dark & thin.
I watch your ass sway its way to the house for two more beers,
hear you shout, & run up the sidewalk to be by your side.
Endless suffering in the living room. Slippery viscera hide
behind a red couch that shouldn't be. An extraterrestrial near-
by has you in its grip, crushes your sweet skull that had been
so happy an hour ago. How I feel now is the exact color of the rusty
blood, the limbs that can't dance anymore. It's not new to say, or deep,
but out here, laughing with you, I'd destroy every unearthly ventricle
for one more puff, another minute, another, another, another.



Weston Richey is a poet, writer, and hopeful academic originally from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Weston received a BA in philosophy and English from New York University, and is currently an MFA candidate in creative writing at Rutgers University–Newark. Their work has appeared in FreezeRay Poetry.
Current Issue
15 Aug 2022

You turned and Hailé was hunched by the counter, holding the Rift in his bare stomach together with his hands.
Their eyes trace the curves of our gears / like birds eyeing the shoreline and we / recite the songs our makers wrote
During recess, we would fight all the time.
Wednesday: Braking Day by Adam Oyebanji 
Friday: Appliance by J. O. Morgan 
Issue 8 Aug 2022
Issue 1 Aug 2022
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Strange Horizons
Issue 27 Jun 2022
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Issue 6 Jun 2022
Podcast: 6 June Poetry 
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