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Passou de branco, preto é. Não existe este negócio de mulato.
Mulato pra mim é cor de mula.
—Tim Maia

They say I was born na cinza das horas
          of the time
when sun has slit its wrists
into the undarkened sky

and some have cried openly
at the newborn color. But is the spectrum
born? Or torn from stubbornly
disobedient scores of prisms

that refuse the stick instead for feast
of antropofagia.
 Eating all they can eat
or at least all of what string is

dangled in front of their nose. I know
this game well. I have since trod
many miles with a mão
          enorme solidly

promising the knowledge of steed
and strength of ass yet, sat backwards,
my rider not knowing the difference. Indeed, I wonder
at the validity of color, at the providence of a Black

Orpheus. What song is there to sing
me home? What map is made by O Cavalo Morto?
I look to the stars to bring
me answers, but all I see is the absence of color.



Woody Dismukes is a Brazilian-American poet and author living in Jackson Heights, Queens. He is a 2018 Clarion West graduate and has taught at University Settlement’s Creative Center. His work is featured in Huizache, Lightspeed, Apex, and elsewhere. You can find him on Twitter @WoodyDismukes or on his website woodydismukes.com.
Current Issue
16 May 2022

we are whispered into this new land, this old land, whispered anew
i tuck myselves under coffin nails. and then i am the sun like a nairobi fly, burning spine and skin.
The last deer in heaven flees, and Sestu pursues.
Issue 9 May 2022
Podcast: 9 May Poetry 
Issue 2 May 2022
By: Eric Wang
By: Sara S. Messenger
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Sara S. Messenger
Issue 18 Apr 2022
By: Blaize Kelly Strothers
By: Ken Haponek
Podcast read by: Blaize Kelly Strothers
Podcast read by: Ken Haponek
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 11 Apr 2022
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Issue 28 Mar 2022
Issue 21 Mar 2022
By: Devin Miller
Art by: Alex Pernau
Podcast read by: Courtney Floyd
Issue 14 Mar 2022
Strange Horizons
Issue 7 Mar 2022
Strange Horizons
28 Feb 2022
We would like stories that are joyous, horrific, hopeful, despondent, powerful and subtle. Write something that will take our breath away, make us yell and cry. Write unapologetically in your local patois and basilects in space; make references to local events and memes to your heart’s content. Write something that makes you laugh and cry. Indulge in all the hallmarks of your heritage that you find yourself yearning for in speculative literature, but know that we will not judge you based on your authenticity as a Southeast Asian. 
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