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The man in guide khaki gave this
Island The hands of a warlock clap

Unto them Get up the diesel engine
He said get it goin it won’never die

He spit to the raised dirt It smoked
He chewed whole leaves This breakfast,

cake for dinner And they stole into the hills in
Old falling waves He told in the pale smoke off

The ocean was alight and layed on
Their faces clean water The gallery of pampas

Grass bathed, staining And so it came to pass
He played the brakes He called to the Bison

Like this Hello, young man—your Grandmother
was a movie star—She come here onna pontoon

Her cousins back home skinned, burned,
Ate Anyhow, He’s old He aint never been a father

he’s real Who’s hungry He spat the death
Of his mouth well past the metal at his breast

Later noon came they came to rest
They righted their backs at the tires

They ate fresh melon or made water on
The ground before trees They bawled as calves

He pulled his lip thus and filled it,
Called the tour to their feet

To know again the plants the climes They came
To walk an angle This spell in the foul wind at the bluff

He righted, inhaled He pointed to the fins of carrion
Lit down the sand The shape of a gorgon

The gales with spoil in them You caint just up
and walk from a sea
Thy Bastard Son: Holy Shit

this is boring The man in khaki spat the dark
Don’t you cuss your mother

Kay is a writer and educator in South Texas who just can't stop thinkin’ about sleep and coyotes. His writing can be found in or is forthcoming from Deep South Magazine, Brazos River Review, Scalawag Magazine, and Menacing Hedge.
Current Issue
29 May 2023

We are touched and encouraged to see an overwhelming response from writers from the Sino diaspora as well as BIPOC creators in various parts of the world. And such diverse and daring takes of wuxia and xianxia, from contemporary to the far reaches of space!
By: L Chan
The air was redolent with machine oil; rich and unctuous, and synthesised alcohol, sharper than a knife on the tongue.
“Leaping Crane don’t want me to tell you this,” Poppy continued, “but I’m the most dangerous thing in the West. We’ll get you to your brother safe before you know it.”
Many eons ago, when the first dawn broke over the newborn mortal world, the children of the Heavenly Realm assembled at the Golden Sky Palace.
Winter storm: lightning flashes old ghosts on my blade.
transplanted from your temple and missing the persimmons in bloom
immigrant daughters dodge sharp barbs thrown in ambush 十面埋伏 from all directions
Many trans and marginalised people in our world can do the exact same things that everyone else has done to overcome challenges and find happiness, only for others to come in and do what they want as Ren Woxing did, and probably, when asked why, they would simply say Xiang Wentian: to ask the heavens. And perhaps we the readers, who are told this story from Linghu Chong’s point of view, should do more to question the actions of people before blindly following along to cause harm.
Before the Occupation, righteousness might have meant taking overt stands against the distant invaders of their ancestral homelands through donating money, labour, or expertise to Chinese wartime efforts. Yet during the Occupation, such behaviour would get one killed or suspected of treason; one might find it better to remain discreet and fade into the background, or leave for safer shores. Could one uphold justice and righteousness quietly, subtly, and effectively within such a world of harshness and deprivation?
Issue 22 May 2023
Issue 15 May 2023
Issue 8 May 2023
Issue 1 May 2023
Issue 24 Apr 2023
Issue 17 Apr 2023
Issue 10 Apr 2023
Issue 3 Apr 2023
Issue 27 Mar 2023
Issue 20 Mar 2023
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