It's a simple trick, really. I say this out loud, then sit back and watch the horse drawings roll in. When I die, they'll find them all gathered in a box beneath my bed. Beautiful, monstrous, not-horse looking things I called into existence. Now you tell me who I ought to believe in.
Kristin Lueke is a Virgo, chingona, and author of the chapbook (in)different math, published by Dancing Girl Press. Her work has appeared exactly where it must. She has some degrees from Princeton and the University of Chicago, and one time, she was nominated for a Pushcart for a poem about revenge. (It didn’t win.) She tweets when she feels like it @klooky and loves her little poem newsletter, The Animal Eats.
- On Wednesday I Get Ashes at the Drive-Thru
Katelyn Botsford Tucker
- How To Lie On Your Back Underwater And Not Drown Your Fool Self
- The Day Ends. The Day Ends. The Day Ends.
- And if this is where you live, welcome home
- After Saying John Ashbery’s Poetry Is Like Getting Out of a Bath When It’s Still Warm, And My Workshop Instructor Laughs and Tells Us He’s Going to Tell His Friend I Said That, Repeating What I Said in a Lower Voice, Not Like “John Ashbery’s Poetry Is Like Getting Out of a Bath When It’s Still Warm” but More Like “John Ashbery’s poetry is like getting out of a bath when it’s still warm” Because People Don’t Normally Talk in Capitals, and Did Y’all Know I Visited the Capitol in Fifth Grade on a School Field Trip as a “Safety Patrol,” Back When I Didn’t Know the Responsibilities Behind Patrolling a School, Before An Intoxicated Man Intruded My High School Last Year and the School Cop, on Their First Day, Didn’t Know What to Do, so the Local Cops Shot the Intruder in the Same Building I Was in