Energy drips from hanging vines — your vascular form, twisting rope threads in a violent movement, conjoining semantic with somatic
Will Hunt
My wardrobes are facsimiles of you carrying with them the unprinted text, invisible ink lying about where it was from
You walk along the campsite’s edges, sprawling onto Mason Smith’s Road like overgrown grass. Gravel flicks back up against your
Words by Will Hunt The first line of this poem is from Gabriela Mistral’s ‘The Teller of Tales’. In
Words by Will Hunt Content warning: descriptions of drowning Weeds drown silently Every day, fl aked by caustic sand,
Words by Will Hunt Art by Zoe Elektra Content warning: contains descriptions of sexual assault One sees here