Of course it’s possible to fall in love in thirty seconds. It happens every time I pass through the 81st St. station on the express and see  through the window a trapeze artist or ballet …

Lemon dose Sniff your blues away in the electric evening light Burst gold all over the sky again like every other night of late There’s not much  music in it left Give me a sky of muted grey&n…

live on SNL she rolled his head out of the wicker basket onto the buffed stage floor sun ra snake dance sun grabbed the  baby and tossed it high up into the mother’s arms Exif_JPEG_PICTU…

Pairs Short Program Watch the backwards inwards death spiral, technical element introduced in the 1948 Olympics, the woman hovers smoothly, levitates, you recall your last time ice skating solo, a …

Sibyl of Cumae Would-be lovers will not want forever. Edging feels a satin yard of inside, but its edge penknifes— so short and straight,  the letting come (and go).   They’ll gravel…

Rubberneckin’ I passed by a church basement full of old people dancing cheek to cheek to rnb on Valentine’s Day  And all the young white single  people in the city stopped and said can yo…

The half-empty bottle of lavender  pure-castile soap haunting  my shower for months  after you left, the lonesome  burning sudsy mornings  moaning, masturbating…

“When are you going to do it?” Lenny asked Susan. “When am I going to do what?” she responded, laying a card carefully on the dining room table where she was playing Solitai…

Jen Adams (she/they) is a UK-based researcher, feminist and writer.

What was our poison touch, of palm lines centred on hands, opening chords into the body, incisions rent inside like wreathless layers of skin? A glorious kinetic estrangement  feed-back loops …

in air thick with lack of light deep stink of hot mammal and stabbing breath looped like my passage through this space what is it we fear when images come to mind do we sense something that inhabit…

in air thick with lack of light deep stink of hot mammal and stabbing breath looped like my passage through this space what is it we fear when images come to mind do we sense something that inhabit…

Sawing Through Lap dance underwater with sharks. Limbs tossed into bleeding mosh pits. Those still alive are uniform, guns, glass, hate.Won’t stop shooting,biting, spitting out splintere…

For weeks she willed the horizon ablaze with word of triumph Smoke from her fires     sways lascivious in the mist She dresses the house for his return as a snake vestures …

March Indulge yourself in a final thought as the year ends: If you leave her, the road ahead opens into a midlife reckoning. No money for the cliched convertible. The trip to Japan. Holiday shrine …

<1> my suede hand warm + gloved pinning swollen fist on  either side of ur mandible + screaming until the jaw snaps (so visceral !) my wet thigh sticky (unexpected blood) i tuck my …

What was our poison touch, of palm lines centred on hands, opening chords into the body, incisions rent inside like wreathless layers of skin? A glorious kinetic estrangement  feed-back loops …

monument leaves (upon reading Pasolini’s review of the Italian translation of Osip Mandelstam) like the sun sets   in motion   a series  of actions  &nb…

An issue replete with luscious adjectives and flights of form

… sunny-side-up quail eggs on tiny slices of rock-hard baguette…

An issue replete with luscious adjectives and flights of form

Words spoken through blood-wetted lips, old words older than old stars rolling cold and heavy across the calloused skein of the sky to ends unknown, to wherever stars go, wherever they end, or so s…

ciphers smallupon a plinth

… life itself, the perfect composition of flesh elevated into a cathedral of fluids and organs, into a little god of misery.

I am going back to the beginning place before sun and sky and sea, before the slit discloses difference, before the shock of time abides…

biting the inside of my mouth i am more gum than smile, because even on theinternet i don’t know how to say no in the breathless space of a text message

ciphers smallupon a plinth

… the Soul of a philosopher, poet and criminal. I am all three, I swear…

I will be something utterly, gloriously new…

Visit the post for more.

Thought and feeling are forgotten, only the body lives!

We slip out into the night-bar, drink beyond satiety; fall in thestreet of inequality, the place we live.