A kind of wildness descends and across the expanse the attendant wind drones its one fecund song

— Taylor Johnson

When I am so tender in the thick
of rot I let all the morning wet

spread a plague across this threadbare
vessel that holds in what hums, what rushes beneath.

              give as the ground gives:

                                                                Make of me your groveling tongue your muck.
                                                                Your         possessed         possessing.

                                                                                                    never let up.

Read more from Issue No. 7 or share on Twitter.