Issue 121

What was empty is slowly refilled. No outlet, just rain and evaporation. Simple.

Up the mountain light rushes.
So am I, following its dark future.

In many ways, all my poems are writings in a spiritual diary, both faithful and despairing (and seeking faith amid states of desolation).

In the corner of the kitchen window,
a crane fly is caught in a spiderweb.

It has not stopped struggling
all afternoon.

  Inside,                  small fish

             may nest             till they grow big                        (inside the bell).

Unfaith. Is how that which. Without which. Is nothing.
Is nothing before and then after.

Devon DeJardin is a self-taught multimedia artist from Portland, Oregon, now based in Los Angeles. His paintings, drawings, and sculptures reference the body, forces of nature, and the application of philosophy to lived experience. His current work focuses on guardians-entities and forces that protect, guide, and challenge us to grow.   Image: Could you talk…

Hear this essay read by the artist, along with field sounds from the forest site in Finland.   —Striving to represent the world, we inevitably forfeit its direct presence. ——————————————— –David Abram I ARRIVE IN THE DARK SHIVER of January in Finland to begin work on my master’s degree in time and space arts. The…

all the grandmothers who couldn’t let go
are given a sword and some kind of new eyes

Dad passed away overnight. It was a message from my ex-husband.