On the way to T’s childhood Wendy’s I tell her
about mine, a Fancy Wendy’s, with a salad bar,
rooms, tin... more
spell for electron microscopes/ for silicate minerals & landfills
if my friends say you are a cell tower... more
Well look, the radio says ...
TO LOUISIANA
I cry because of
how much time
we lost of my childhood
not singing in the front... more
Treat
I want to be rewarded for my good thoughts. My good purchase. I want free shipping. Gentle... more
Cosmogony
In January the birds awakened mid-
flight. In February the bats left
their cave and we... more
scare tactics
I grew hands by the dozen
I was a generalized reaching
clasping monster it was
not... more
Poem from the perspective of Sasha Velour’s rose petals during her lip sync performance of Whitney... more
Did we go to Boston twice or did all this happen in one trip? I remember two different rooms but we used to change hotels all the time,... more
The kettle boiled; I made the tea,
And when I turned around,
I saw she’d set the cups and placed
A third one for the skull.
please believe me
when i tell you this
when i tell you of the high concentration of uranium and thorium
Every book says I’ll miss this part.
"Eve Learns to Dominate," "Farmers' Market," "Small-Town Fuck Geometry," and "Religious Art"
I was reading today how trees, though not touching directly,
talk to each other...
I like to say I hate it when people say this,
but sometimes it really is what it is...
" ... look at me now, with a margarita / in a little pitcher thing, shaken"
"I didn't want to ever be outside of this moment. I knew at some point I would look at the picture I'd just taken and feel an overwhelming sense of loss. I thought as long as we could manage to stay inside this particular hotel room, to avoid our phones and every person with whom we'd ever come into contact, we would continue to feel whole. We were revolutionaries, goddamnit. These were our accumulation of beautiful moments. Before the world fractured us. I don't expect you to understand how I became Brad Pitt in that moment, how we all just flew along down the highway. Bandits. Ex-patriots. In love with this countryside, if not this country. Paper Moon. The Last Picture Show. All of this shot in black and white. Only the final scene in color."
FOUR NEW ESSAYS BY CHLOE CALDWELL! Plus the original essays that made you fall in love with Chloe!
Jason Phoebe Rusch is a queer writer from the Chicago suburbs. His full-length debut Dualities explores gender and patriarchy from the perspective of a man who was socialized and is currently still read as a woman. He is interested in complication and nuance and messy human failing, his own and that of others.
