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[                   ] called me the other day, said he would
send me the money i needed / (                   ) said i should

be relieved: unafraid of the manipulation of it all. my dog
sleeps in the sun every day & i dream of lemon trees

from a different continent, haha, diaspora poetry, am i right,
                   anyway, I thought of _______ at the picket today, reading

Olufemi in the rain as another Indian girl held the mic up for me
& asked me to be careful of her book (her favourite): another

diaspora poem, haha, am i right, anyway I texted my psychiatrist
today — he has a job under capitalism just like me 🙂 he gives

me medicine & advice i ignore & misplaced hope in the system.
bell hooks says she came to theory because she was hurting &

i would like to know where i can go: please
hold this umbrella for me while i read this poem in the rain,

& we can go everywhere after. the academy is coopting the term
decolonisation — the university has a stake in empire — neoliberal

feminism is incomplete and insidious — reform can be positive, I want
to scream that [                   ] called me the other day & said

he would send me the money i need!!!!!!!! they are quoting Darwish
at the picket & i am finally breathing again, i wish you were here

to hold my hand & teach me abolition💖we are gifted this planet
with all of its lemon trees & we are wasting it, not holding

each other’s hands while we’re here, look, sorry for
diaspora poem-ing but have you seen the news? have you

seen the hashtags? do you still watch TV? [                   ] called me
the other day, made a joke about the news, said

how awful, isn’t it all, what do we do, where do we go, i am holding
your hand through the static again, at the picket i thought of

[                   ] calling me, evil as always, nestled into the structures of
manipulation in the abusive [redacted] industrial complex, [                   ]

makes jokes sometimes, makes me sick, makes me tired, makes me
tell the stories i hate. i like the one of how my newborn

body went unheld by [                   ] until i was 6 months: the same time
that [                   ] spent not smoking. picked me up with the nicotine

addiction, haha, diaspora poetry, am i right. [                   ] will never
read this, i am thinking about the term “collective fullness” & how

everything i do is half-empty, all chemically-incoherent in my brain, i’ll say it,
                   fuck the world that makes us live like this, i will see you

at the picket
& the next one
& the next world.
                   & at all the parties we throw in this one



Umang Kalra is an Indian writer and artist living in Belfast, Ireland. She is a two-time Best of the Net Anthology finalist and a Pushcart nominee. She is the founding Editor in Chief of Violet Indigo Blue, Etc., and the author of fig (2022) and MINIMALIST SWEETHEART (-algia, 2021). Her website is umkalra.persona.co, she tweets at @umkalra, and you can buy fig and other stuff from her at etsy.com/uk/shop/umkalra.
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24 Jun 2024

I am a little sad that story has ended, even though I could have been the target
We are all harmonic oscillators / Sloshing around in watery bags of salt,
The Rise of Speculative Poetry 
Strange Horizons
Speculative poetry has the power to detach and disarm, to tease and pull, to play and emancipate.
Wednesday: Island Witch by Amanda Jayatissa 
Friday: The Silverblood Promise by James Logan 
Issue 17 Jun 2024
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Phonetics of Draconic Languages 
Critical Friends Episode 11: Boundaries in Genre 
Issue 3 Jun 2024
Issue 27 May 2024
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Issue 15 Apr 2024
By: Ana Hurtado
Art by: delila
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