Bryony Littlefair When I first moved to the cityI lived on the 29th floor where the view was wideand the lift was narrow and my Polish flatmatemade soft, white dumplings filling up the freezer.Everything was cold, high up. I often had a lonely, professional feeling.Like I was an air traffic controller. Bryony Littlefair is a … Continue reading London

            Jayant Kashyap This evening I’m not writing a bird;nests have shut their doors and I cannotremember the structure of wings—instead I’m writing arrows, burnt trees,myths and faux Greek tragedies: in one there isa woman, doing nothing (or she is notallowed to); in another a manis stripping naked and moving towardswater; in another the earth is … Continue reading Annotation on Ecopoetry

            Ryan Collins Too many new Americans speak in reassuring            tones & say not a word to be believedat this late hour in the maw of end-stage            capital. A jingle jangle thesis is as usefula currency as any to bang a gong to            or keep the lights on. W/ any luck, aftergreat pain, the pain & our feeling form            into … Continue reading For Fong

            Jasmine Gibbs                                                   Bitter January morn.We shun the desolate promenade for a momentto let the old girls in the café gnaw our ears offabout the dead season, smokeblue fade tingingthe colours on bygone circus posters. ‘Right grisly’they tut. That we do not have a thousand wordsfor grey remains an oversight. Today, the sky’spaint shade matches the … Continue reading The Dead Season

            Kaja Wojtkowska Not even September and alreadythe chestnut trees are shedding leaves,littering pavements with dried brown crisps.The thistles have grown wild white hairon their heads, releasing their seeds into the windlike mothers sending children away to school.The balsam flowers retreat into tightly-pursed lipsas if tasting something sour, then spittheir small black seeds when touched, burstingand … Continue reading Season’s End

            John Greening        for Katie and John London in May. That she should arrivejust as this is happening. But noceremony for her other thanthe rituals of an NHSabbey, this wing, its bright notes, a C- section, not a natural birth, whereshe is lifted through a discreet woundinto bunting, kitsch, quiche and song, thususurping her way to … Continue reading Crowning

            Cecilia Knapp you have a childhooduncles in Mondeosbig pine scentwomen assemblingmeat platters in the kitchenone water slide in Tenerifethat sun burn on your backafter all thisyou have cork coasterscheese plant splayingin the tiny basement flatsomehow, a husbandcupboards of butter beanssuspended in their own juicesan ageing father who stainshis white beard with soupyou have a set … Continue reading list the facts and they will stick

            Jen Feroze She has been wonderingwhether it’s possibleto be only a little bit hit by a car. Nothing that would mean metal pins,or the moving or removing of internal organs, no,nothing dramatic. A dark orchard of bruising.A nice clean breakand something in plaster. She would be expected to lie low for a bit,to be under … Continue reading Self-Care

            Katie Beswick 1. Three cloud wispsforming a line-drawn vulva,its clitoris engorged.We laughed so hard, the ozone tore.We took the 274 out to London Zoo,where a capuchin keeper told us monkeys could senseby the weight of the skywhen rain was coming.I pointed and said, Her too!Having the time of my life.Saw this and thought of you. … Continue reading Postcards from the Edge

            Joshua Hallam I’m considering the stability of a fatally regular work weekdealing with Ken the duty manager’s poor breathso I can afford to pick you up your own bit of capitalismevery drive home and when I walk in hollering honey, I survived another oneyou can pop your new bit of the world on a shelfnot … Continue reading Love on the Dole (I’m so in love with you)