..:: CONTENTS ::..

   Volume X, Issue II

..:: POETRY ::..

..:: PROSE ::..
..:: OTHER ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I
   Volume VII, Issue II
   Volume VIII, Issue I
   Volume VIII, Issue II
   Volume IX, Issue I
   Volume IX, Issue II
   Volume X, Issue I


Lungs Are Grammatical
Adam Strauss


That range, tripod with the. I limned and landed in strange curves. Pursed, rehearsed, studied moves. Ripped hues hidden from hidden views. Mortar during pecks, seed veils. Cordovan for dorky fun, camellias. Brindled like pretty pelts, markets. Ugly carpet gorgeous cars connect. Crumpled rusts like railings.

Rapidly, to the sea. Repeatedly repeat after me, Mesopotamian. Fried out, forked, faked with funny fritillaries. Fold within fold more blooming than flowers. Regulated, dated regulations the dream of demons. Rage rescinds. Ragged plagues dance jigs, ravage pigs, pit sugars against spices.

Tipple firms fulgency, fosters burns, rubber tracks, scarred, scared. Breathing oneself back together, all one can do. Breaths manufacture glue. Ices surmises. Irises spy blossoms freshet cascades. Braced by shifts, jerked, shored. Fashion, fabulous pathology, at Gar du Nord. Green at collar, perfect cuffs stride greensward.



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