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we are titans
surviving
while black
is our superpower
we lift broken down
cars
over our heads
and that’s
just a tuesday
we leap
tall buildings
on a single
paycheck
because the universe
gives us
no choice
but the only
glory
is making it
through another day
without dying
or committing homicide
because we’ve run
out of patience
with a world
that has
its foot
on our necks

we are metahumans
without
the colorful spandex
because the drip
is real
and we clean
like that
though
our kryptonite
is hypertension
induced
by a world
that roots
for the supervillain
instead of us
and ain’t that
a bitch
but
we fly around
the city
anyway
because our people
need us

we’re titans
in an age
of villains
and no one
sings our theme song
even though
it’s dope



Gerald L. Coleman is a philosopher, theologian, poet, Science Fiction & Fantasy author, and has a Master’s degree in Theology. He’s served as a Scholastic National Writing Juror, is a co-founder of the Affrilachian Poets, is a Rhysling and Locust Award Nominee, and is a Fellow at the Black Earth Institute. You can find him at GeraldColeman.com.
Current Issue
14 Jun 2026

this desire to mold something more than mere inert earth
How to Court a Siberian Tiger 
Get used to being held inside of her mouth completely.
Log 6324, earthdate unknown 
We didn’t think we’d make it this long, but there were others.
The Keyhole 
A light, he realizes, piercing the dark. It’s coming through the keyhole of the door leading to the living room. But how can it be? There’s no one else in the apartment—hasn’t been for years.
The fact of the matter is that the basic acts of our species' survival - sex, birth, nursing - are discomfitingly sticky. They upset the rather delicate balance of mind versus body that we all, one way or another, have to achieve, sending the squishy-meat-sack side surging to the forefront in all its oozy, dripping glory. Werewolf stories expose this side of human existence, which we usually don't highlight. Werewolves excel at externalizing bodily fluids.
For a Handful of Salted Teeth 
What I’d taken for white beads are actually human teeth, mixed with white crystals I identified (via taste, to Mole’s horror) as salt. Mole looks at the mixture and shudders. I don’t know how to explain why I keep them. As much as I wish to deny the strangeness of our near-death experience…if some wyrdcraft did take place, this feels like a talisman.
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