“What a beautiful day for an Eschaton”: Game Logic and the Short-Circuit of Meaning academic essay by Rob Patterson On a snow-filled Interdependence Day, the final foreseeable round of Enfield Tennis Academy’s homegrown game Eschaton is played. It is by far the most complicated and descriptively dense game within the text, which is notable
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“14” poem by Haley Whishaw
14 poem by Haley Whishaw It’s Sunday. It’s Sunday because through the window, past the half-bloom rhododendrons and before the forest filled with bee-eating birds, the car doors of the Baptists, or the Jehovah’s witnesses, or the Unitarians are slamming and popping like the rain that has crept across the white ceiling paint as
“Natural History” poem by Katie Selbee
Natural History poem by Katie Selbee Good question. The mountains me and you we fit so well together like the rock faces of the Rockies I pointed out to you the other day out the car window that maybe you were looking at or maybe ha ha knowing you you were thinking of the Cold
“It’s funny what you don’t recall” poem by Stephanie Airth
It’s funny what you don’t recall poem by Stephanie Airth when a friend points a knife that bites at you both and seems made of light when it shines in the (dark bright burn orange soft white streetlamp, she steps in front of (him the knife his face past describing her heart is six shriveled
“To Remember a Poem” poem by Billy Kwan
To Remember a Poem poem by Billy Kwan A minute to half-past twelve. The moon’s sphere of light hides behind veils of clouds. You tilt your head back. Thoughts descend like mist that hovers around the ankles. The trickiest part is always some other thing than a thought; so you begin to forget. The
“Frame” and “Glass” photos by Konstantin Prodanovic
“Frame” Photography by Konstantin Prodanovic “Glass”
About Our Contributors
About Our Contributors Alberto Cristoffanini Benavente is a Chilean writer, who has lived half of his short life in Vancouver, Canada. There, he came across spoken word and became involved with the techniques and philosophies of a poetry out loud. He has been involved in UBC Slam and the Vancouver Poetry Slam, published in Tandem
“Crocodylia” poem by Jason Fernando
Crocodylia poem by Jason Fernando He sat heavily on the cushioned surface, eyes jittering out the window. Inside, a warm room, its low-lit scenery accented by the blue-cold glare emanating from beyond café windows, those moderating view-panes and embassies to the external. Outside, cool air shifted imperceptibly in convective motions, as visibly all was still
“A Stasis in Motion: Wordsworth’s Poetics” academic essay by Reuben Jentink
A Stasis in Motion: Wordsworth’s Poetics academic essay by Reuben Jentink William Wordsworth’s “The Complaint of a Forsaken Indian Woman” is “concerned with the variations” (Simpson xi) in perspectival positionality. For David Simpson, “it is the mind that sees, not the eye” (xi). The forsaken woman’s “perspectival” death-song is a dialectic between, on the one
“The Possession” fiction by Talia Varoglu
The Possession fiction by Talia Varoglu He was sitting on the sidewalk. Slouched against a parking meter, inanimate, like the fingers of god had simply plucked him after the fall and deposited him here. He wore a torn flannel shirt under two mismatched jackets that lacked zippers; stockinged toes poked out of the crumbling mesh
“The Enchanted Ball Gown: A Satire” fiction by Cecily Downs
The Enchanted Ball Gown: A Satire This work is now accessible only in the print edition, as per the author’s request. You can buy the print edition at our launch parties and ESA events, or send us a quick e-mail request.
“Presage” poem by Mo Lawrence
Presage poem by Mo Lawrence I woke and wondered how to go about pronouncing presage. In this, I pronounced the wondering, but could not pronounce the presage. In this, presage was palimpsest: a Thing made Things in chord. Can the poem presage if I cannot not muck the meter? Yes: It can presage a decline.
“I Pick You Up at the Airport” poem by Sara Dueck
I Pick You Up at the Airport poem by Sara Dueck You pop out at holidays, my birthday, In August stepping down to the tarmac. My air conditioning broke last month and Beads of wax run down Your face. Thirsty Trees line up. You look out the back windows. I told you You could have