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

            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

            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

            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

            Jack Emsden rain on the boneof my ribcage glisteningi loosenmy hair in buncheslisten for the catslinking into morningto drop the body of a mouseunder the portrait of a hacksawin return i paint a carouselon the car park concretethere is violenceand there is birdsongand then there are ruleswe inventto pass the timea shallow pondon the unmown … Continue reading i come to you barefoot

            Vanessa Napolitano In early morning the motel room is purple droop,as if we are renting a bruise.Sunrise is a livid blush, mauve of a trapped limb,corners of the room like the underside of an eye,my skin outside the sheets reflecting, parma violet chalky skyand the carpet, all heather and gorse,smelling like soap tastes.It stretches in … Continue reading Colour Scheme

            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)

            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

            Zain Rishi on bonfire night you would never catch usdown petersfield road with the rest of hall greenburning that wooden man / we had better ideasor perhaps just smaller ones like holdingsparklers up to our faces as the skyfound a rhythm between the clatter and glow / it's funnyhow allah always finds us / we … Continue reading The Bird

            Clara-Læïla Laudette on my aunt’s face is stapled acrosswith stitch lines. Her husband put it there.In my gran’s bones a want of calcium:my grandad drew it out, ten times,maybe more. Now she limpson the gnawed pistons of her hips.My cousins who are boyssit in a silent row of radiant phones.They sit and food is brought … Continue reading The long scar