The Nightlife
Elise Paschen

In this collection are infidelities and funerals, umbrellas hurtled by the wind, landmines hidden in sand, and tightly wound rhymes that hint of a spirit coiled, waiting in the dark.
In this collection are infidelities and funerals, umbrellas hurtled by the wind, landmines hidden in sand, and tightly wound rhymes that hint of a spirit coiled, waiting in the dark.
Rydra Wong is a poet, a captain, an erstwhile cryptographer, and a burgeoning telepath.
In this well-argued polemic, Devon Price outlines three tenets of what they term the “laziness lie”: that your worth is your productivity, that you cannot trust your own feelings and limits, and that there is always more you should be doing.
In Drift(er), Jake Skeets addresses the Richard Avedon photo that adorns the book’s cover: “to drift is to be carried by a current of air or water / but men are not the teeth / of their verbs.”
“This is a history of the United States.”
In the opening poem in this collection, Tishani Doshi addresses her reader: “I agree to turn my skin inside out, / to reinvent every lost word, to burnish, / to steal, to do what I must / in order to singe your lungs.”
On the solstice, in the city of Tova, there will be a convergence—a total eclipse of the sun.
Tookie works in a bookstore, and Flora—her most annoying, and most loyal, customer—has just died. This does not mean she has left the bookstore.
Some books seek to simplify or clarify the past; this one seeks to complicate it.
Each essay in this collection is a a full-throated declaration of a democracy of species—with humans as the minority voice.
Daniel Brüks is a baseline: a human with few enhancements, no cortical inlays, no way to blink and see subtitles in his vision.
To whom are we actually responsible?
Turning to these poems at the end of many a dark day has felt like holding the gift of a small, fierce light.
Siri Keeton, missing half his mind, is sent out on a mission to discover the source of thousands of probes that surrounded Earth and screamed an unintelligible alien signal before burning up in the atmosphere.
The Athsheans live among a forest, on a planet that “yumens” are attempting to colonize.
“Our entrance into work is unfree, and while we’re there, our time is not our own.”
A provocative and irresistable argument that the need to “work for a living” is not a natural order but rather an invention—and one that can change.