This month’s featured artist, Augusto BM, is a Brazilian illustrator with a talent for creating entire aesthetic universes with only a pen and paper, or through the otherworldly collages that compose his Instagram stories. Influenced by the art of ancient civilizations, which he discovered while studying History, Augusto’s artwork explores the relationship between nature and […]
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The third collection from Leslie Contreras Schwartz, Who Speaks for Us Here, is both a question and answer for silenced women. These poems are both a warning and a guide about how to hush the haunting of trauma, how to master the art of carrying multiple selves inside of us. The women in these lyrical […]
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Never, Never Again Tore open the door of your placeAs you were no longer inside What would have been the password of your life?No response came as you were no longer a tenant of this worldA locksmith was called in to help me inside Shoes placed as if to walk away at any momentDishes scattered […]
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Suddenly / late summer / shirtless in the loft / he watches me / surmount the top rung / Soft timothy exhaling June / The twine breaks / spreading blue / purple florets on which we lie / about men / the Virgin / glistening skin / senators and welfare / other things we cannot […]
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I. It’s tough to admit, but I can’t stopbaby-talking to the guillotinein my closet. I can’t stop wearing orangeand clicking like a house in the sun.I just want to find love, testifyto the power of pedestrian walkwaysthrough the minefields of early death.No reason for me to be inconclusive,circus-like in my heart. I belongto the ice […]
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Three days after swearing off sex, I message an old tinder date. We talk about coming home to ourselves, recovery, and tarot. She asks me, in what ways do you want to be more grounded? And I want to tell her about Yayoi Kusama’s Narcissus Garden, how fifteen hundred steel spheres lay on the ground, and reflect via convex—how the viewer […]
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The incapacity to name is a symptom of disturbance. Operator / Operator, I could not join the troupe of myselfobserved by the lens. The windowpane and the landscape make it very difficult to focus. In order to “see”Myself / beloved “myself” / which is light, divideddoesn’t hold still, giggling in my jar. We all have our secret […]
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VAGABOND CITY 