by Nnadi Samuel Avinash Kumar A town this gorgeous once held rust. I offer myself as a vista for how war is perceived. the scaffolding with teenage lamp, spreading incense —  the way a pope’s lung stretches over a church of Psalm. I gaze past the bloodied notes. look what tarnishes this grassland: metal feel of rugged light, perishing the way a crayon self-destructs on the cardboard of doubt of name & buttoned landmines. of bloated promises — inked in wasteful ceremony. & whe

by Nnadi Samuel Herbert Goetsch We learnt the waters the length of our teenage year, brother and I. call me kayak in that lazy drift. call him the paddle wheel. Two of us — a perfect duo, racing past bison and tulips, past the sainted mist. once, I attempt speaking-in-tongues and brother cupped my incoherence in seraph palms, the way you size a demon before casting it out. once, I drove breadknife to his skin hoping to leave a scar — how tides leave their remark on our vessel

by Nnadi Samuel Metin Ozer how warm you chew your tongue into disremembering the taste of a dialect. grief, the calm to soften your teeth, & sponge a weak phrase to its neat wall of pink. this is how you kill a mother’s worth: sludged wrists crushed to calories, lost from ceaseless count of meals by how much her darkness shortchanges you. your lips ramming into each other. you braid your head into a migraine, & let the style eat you. silence like mohawk, stands at ease. getti