Size / / /

for Sovay

He is not a lord like Milord Byron;

None of us is beneath his notice.

He sits in bushes and spies on us.

When the moment is right we go into his sack.

He empties that sack in a dreary garden

Where souls are planted in long straight rows,

Sending up leaves as thick as your hand

And a stalk with clusters of shiny, black fruit.




Tony Grist (http://poliphilo.livejournal.com) was born in London and lives in Oldham, England, on the edge of the Pennine hills. He keeps rabbits and likes to take photographs of churches.
Current Issue
25 Mar 2024

Looking back, I see that my initial hope for this episode was that the mud would have a heartbeat and a heart that has teeth and crippling anxiety. Some of that hope has become a reality, but at what cost?
to work under the / moon is to build a formidable tomorrow
Significantly, neither the humans nor the tigers are shown to possess an original or authoritative version of the narrative, and it is only in such collaborative and dialogic encounters that human-animal relations and entanglements can be dis-entangled.
By: Sammy Lê
Art by: Kim Hu
the train ascends a bridge over endless rows of houses made of beams from decommissioned factories, stripped hulls, salvaged engines—
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