A-GORA-PHOBIA / NATHANIEL SVERLOW

they call it a-gora-phobia when you’ve had enoughof the anxiety and panic the world brings when you’d rather lie in bedwith the shades pulled and the lights off than go to the grocery store when you’d rather open a 2011 Tempranilloand watch TV than get a good walk in  doesn’t matter the air
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DREAM OF 2046 / JAMES MILLER

We’re hanging in deep heatover the husk of old Abilene, a host of buzzard tourists in teal and tungsten anti-grav Wellingtons. The guide-track waxes wisein our sprouted earbuds: Through the last days,their abandoned missile silos filled with slant rain. The locals dove deep in those dark pools,  came up
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PARTY / AMANDA STEIN

it’s easier to clean up after a party of one. close the bag of doritos, turn off netflix, and it’s almost like it never happened. i long for the echo of laughter in my ears, for glitter still pressed on my body, for sweat that smells like someone else, for
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MISS / KAMAL E. KIMBALL

The morning is silver with birdsong. Clapboard chapel sides thunk down in the grass as nude pews shudder. The priest is sick. His coughing will curse both houses. The rings will roll off the knuckles that don’t exist. Crinoline waits, a virgin in the dress shop, untouched
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STAINED / KELLY WEBER

Across the old woman’s ceiling, the stain spreads its puckered areola, water hooping frayed ripples in the plaster where something broke, leaked in the apartment upstairs, where naked lights shine cold-clear as through windows cobalted with Madonna and child. This godforsaken place.
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