Anthony Lusardi

     on a dead deer the highway asphalt. reeks of exhaust and burnt rubber. the cars and trucks go by. the sun boiling and you rotting. an eye fixed on a sea of green beeches. only one of your antlers unbroken. pointing up to the mountains. does your herd still...

Sophie Kearing

    hay sometimes i miss those carefree days of driving around listening to crucial conflict and fucking in funeral homes so i dream of you calling my name in an airport   Sophie Kearing is a writer of stabby words but also warm wishes. Her work has...