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I will count to infinity knowing the impossibility
      of getting there, then attack
primes who will inflict pain, still 2, 3, 5…
If I go subatomic, will I desire a particular
   flavor of quark?

I’d like clarity on the color red and all
    of its friends. Do we see
the same shade or is it a hue? My favorite
color is green mixed with a smidge blue,
    but is color real or reflection of light?

Whales sound sad when they sing.
    Is that merely my perception of them
while communicating? I know scientific
knowledge about yesteryear is crucial, learn
     from mistakes, but displaying those

who’ve passed is controversial. Let them rest.
      Back to green. I’d like fake grass.
Ten minutes after a cut, those blades stretch
growing back. Water. A basic need, what we
    are mostly composed of, so why is it

so difficult to keep clean? I cannot ever open
     the plastic vegetable bags at the market.
In the deep, way below sunlight what must those
creatures think if a speck of light violates?
    It might seem otherworldly like a UFO.

Those things. Triangular, beyond bright, caught me
      off-guard looking for Mars that night.
Scary, a thrill watching three scattering about as if
playing tag in the atmosphere. I shall let go
        of believing…we are alone.

Nora Weston is a Michigan-based writer/artist. Her work has appeared in James Gunn’s Ad Astra, Green Ink Poetry, and Crow Toes Quarterly. Penumbric Speculative Fiction Magazine and Timber Ghost Press have accepted poetry. Most terrifying to Nora are teenagers with driving permits. She has taught six of these creatures to drive. Twitter: almostsanelady.
Current Issue
26 Sep 2022

Would a Teixcalaanli aristocrat look up at the sky, think of Lsel Station, and wonder—with Auden—"what doubtful act allows/ Our freedom in this English house/ our picnics in the sun"?
I propose that The Expanse and its ilk present us with a similar sentiment, in reverse—a warning that for all the promise of futurism and technological advancement, plenty of new, and perhaps much worse futures are right before us. In the course of outrunning la vieux monde, we may find that we are awaited not simply by new worlds to win, but also many more which may yet be lost.
where oil slurped up out of the dirt, they drink the coffee
Science fiction is a genre that continues to struggle with its own colonialist history, of which many of its portrayals of extractivism are a part. Science fiction is also a genre that has a history of being socially progressive and conscious – these are both truths.
Bring my stones, my bones, back to me
If we are to accept that the extractive unconscious is latent, is everywhere, part of everything, but unseen and unspoken, and killing us in our waking lives, then science fiction constitutes its dreams.
they are quoting Darwish at the picket & i am finally breathing again
Waste is profoundly shaping and changing our society and our way of living. Our daily mundane world always treats waste as a hidden structure, together with its whole ecosystem, and places it beyond our sight, to maintain the glories of contemporary life. But unfortunately, some are advantaged by this, while others suffer.
Like this woman, I am carrying the world on my back.
So we’re talking about a violence that supplants the histories of people and things, scrubbing them clean so that they can fuel the oppressive and unequal status quo it sustains.
Issue 21 Sep 2022
Issue 12 Sep 2022
Issue 5 Sep 2022
Issue 29 Aug 2022
By: Cat T.
Issue 22 Aug 2022
Issue 15 Aug 2022
Issue 8 Aug 2022
Issue 1 Aug 2022
Issue 18 Jul 2022
Issue 11 Jul 2022
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