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a devil licks an angel’s wings and conceives
a holiday of feathers. a god’s fangs drip blood for initiates
to solemnly sponge from the carpets. a wilted bloom is
a monstrous wish and a generous offering
on an empty marble dais.

one initiate dreams of the time their mom
pulled out their dad’s intestines. another has
such rapturous dreams she forgets her dad
ever had intestines

ever was a body

in the Cult of Nearly-Lost Dreams advanced dreamers become dreams for initiates

who walk five paces behind their own
footsteps. who are so near death from all the dreaming they haunt
their houses while sleeping. an advanced dreamer slithers with forked
tongue out  tasting his own aimless circles and the bitter
tang of the dream he’ll become for an initiate who watches
consciousness unravel around her

she finds shavings of scapulae entire woodlands of Capricorn fulfilled childhood premonitions the prints of her hands where she walked unconscious



Tamara Jerée is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop. Their short stories appear in FIYAH,  Anathema, and Fireside Magazine, and their poetry was nominated for the inaugural Ignyte Award. You can find them on Twitter @TamaraJeree or visit their website tamarajeree.com.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
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