KARAOKE


Out of Time

Nancy Cook

He left the door unlocked, in case I arrived before he got back from teaching. I thought I’d timed the drive from Durham to ensure an appearance well after school let out, but he didn’t answer when I knocked and it was quiet and dim in the apartment.


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction

Pop Song

Chen Chen

Love is an improbable / shaking / of hips / on a dancefloor called Nevertheless,

recipe for lifelong homosexuality

Chen Chen

beneath the night’s embroidery, / hold me.

The Years Before Y2K

Raquel Gutiérrez

The Stonewood mall in the late-1980s had been a site of several aspirational misfires to fit in, be seen.

Queer Paranoia at the Dua Lipa Concert

Kurt David

I vaguely knew about Dua Lipa before I saw her in concert: pop star, Albanian, that hit single with Da Baby. Mostly I’d come to associate her with my friend Isaiah.

Tender Raging Love: A Requested Playlist

Kathy Nguyen

Singing always ended with a death in this house.

Turn Around

Celeste Amidon

She worked in a supermarket before Showing women the way to the leeks, soaking the mop, affixing stickers to the cheeks of apples

Dreaming in Kpop Y/N

Monica Kim

I dream that Hoseok is my bus driver. We hightail a heist at the British Museum, returning stolen art to their rightful owners.

Pretty Kitty

Dayna Cobarrubias

All she wanted was to look like all the other brown girls. They were everywhere, versions of the girl she’d prayed to look like in high school. Girls whose bodies and faces she craved. Girls she wished she could be. Girls her mom hated that she resembled.

filth deposition, with lines from Caroline Polachek

Fargo Nissim Tbakhi

Online Exclusive Poetry from Fargo Nissim Tbakhi

What I Wouldn't Give

Laura Dzubay

In Delaware Water Gap, I met a stranger I’d been looking for since Georgia. We both stayed the night in town, at a donation-based hostel in the basement of a church.

MMMBop was released

Ayelet Amittay

His beard uncombed / as starlight. His crime couldn’t sing / without a tongue

Two poems from Cosmic Bottom

Lucas de Lima

i open my hands & eat the bird inside the ball of light, the song of the bird of the devil burns a hole in my body & out of it a streak of feathers

harry styles live on tour, september 20th 2017, 8pm the greek theater, los angeles california

alexis briscuso

a man gives just enough / to thunderous applause / and we made a statue/ of it.

Left & Right

Monica Kim

At the end of our fourth date, Amy and I have our first kiss. SEVENTEEN’s “Left / & Right” autoplays on YouTube in the background.

Out of Time

Nancy Cook

He left the door unlocked, in case I arrived before he got back from teaching. I thought I’d timed the drive from Durham to ensure an appearance well after school let out, but he didn’t answer when I knocked and it was quiet and dim in the apartment.

Celebration

tae min suh

On the eve of Phoenix’ 23rd birthday, we sing, all the / furniture pushed up against the balloon-adorned walls of / their living room, the New York kind, compact, quaint a / broker might say when he is trying to sell this fantasy.

Leandra Michaels 1

Brandon Young

You can believe it or not, all of this / heartbreaking / drag


From the Archives

The Therapist

Armon Mahdavi

Jacob opened up an entirely new door for us. After that, we often spoke to the camera directly, to our therapist, when it felt like speaking to each other was getting us nowhere. I loved how cinematic it felt, how odd it was to speak through the lens. I was reminded of a moment in Chris Marker’s Sans Soleil, where the narrator says: Frankly, have you ever heard of anything stupider than to say to people, as they teach in film school, not to look at the camera?

Carb massacre – a love story

Jordan Hamel

Science wants me / to murder every loaf of bread in cold blood while / the pastries watch, so scared of me, they unbake themselves.

The Doorbell

Candice Wuehle

After Graham stopped returning my texts, I started leaving little parts of myself all over the Internet. In his early twenties, especially, Graham left doorways to himself everywhere—not just the normal abandoned social portals of MySpace and Friendster, but also a blog with a cursor shaped like a hot pink mouth. When I clicked on an entry, the disembodied lips smacked. Sickened, I kept clicking as the computerized sucking noise pulled me into page after page of journal entries, photos, digital check-ins at bars where he’d time-stamped his arrival.

2 Poems

Paúl Puma, transl. by Jonathan Simkins

You return, at last. / At the edge no longer./ At the margin’s curve no longer. / Circular no longer. / In the embers of unfading foam. / The sputum of inscrutable lava.