By Marie Casado


By Hannah Schwennesen


18, 19, 20.

Orange tabby cat, Hugo, wearing a tiny top hat

Stone carved by rivers carved by stone

Spaghetti tacos



Cough syrup backlit by fluorescent integers

from a universe too textured to be interpreted

Picture melting jello seeping into cracked sidewalk, then exploding at sunrise


Half doesn’t seem like much when there’s still another half


But then the headaches and empty beaches and stale air

Twenty one epochs culminating precisely in one irresistible hypothesis—

Breakfast pasta


An entire universe constructed from a treasure map shattered in the smallest fraction of a second;

i guess there’s no more gasping for air now.


You imagined a war never-ending and all-consuming, war to end all wars

Instead there is glass scattered on the kitchen tile weeks after the fact

        is it gone?

Bruised skin still never turned to blue


They say absence makes the heart



But where are you when the sun sets at fall’s end and the rest of us are left here dying?