The Spring 2017 issue of Deluge has finally arrived! It features work by:
âI designed this mystery to be heavy / grieving against earwigs / my lived-in routines / Iâm desperate for a blow up in my lifeâ
âWhen the red cloud comes / hang yellow satin over the windowsâ
âOne woe manâs terrorist / is anotherâs brofest touristâ
âwe need a better word / for our lucha / we need a Latinxâ
âI will look for you inside this / movie they show at school. A guide / to know my own body. I want / to understand when to balance & / when to paint over my footsteps left / on the walls. I want to be good to someone else / someday. To keep coming up.â
-JULIA COHEN & ABBY HAGLER
âsinking wet fingers in our early blood / cat-masked in our sleeping bags / next to the closetâ
âTHIS IS THE SOUND OF HONEYSPIGOT, HONEYSPIGOT.â
âNow the play is free to follow its own viral genius. It gathers in the bladder ducts. It strip-mines the genitals for diamonds and rare earth metals. Then it vaults, limb-by-limb, toward the heart and head.â
âsugar tongue lights at / the touch of enamel, remembering / the taste of a hornet / that never belong to meâ
âA copper sun has replaced the slate / moon, the police tape blows in the / breeze, people walk around it, someone / has swept the sidewalk, the garden needs / weedingâ
âHow thin must I keep my coverage in order to feel all this horror?â
âa florescent halo of data / floating through static / tangled into her hair / a terabyte, an sd card, a cloud / archives of text / overworked articles analyzing / the historical implications of deleted tweetsâ
âBut please, mister owl, / I beg you not / To make you a schema / Of me.â
âDare I talk about the delirium involved in all-day drives?â
âthe highway, its inbuilt purpose, hearing static chew pop songs / on the radio like lumps of gum with dirt in them, gazing through / frames grayed by runny splays of what were once shiny flying bugsâ
âwomen burned / in lacerated sleep / along the wharves / burned / coitally / from her own / lung / & ribcageâ
âThen, the clock inside her strikesâ
âa zone of opinions wombs this birth object / my bot plays with it / the palmworld covers its mouth / birth object you will always be here, the palmworld says, / nested in a comment threadâ
âwhat else is there / already used three breaths / all parts pleasure and fear / lots of folks with jobs / will produce this child of queers / who knowsâ
âThe left thrives when people are unhappy. / The right wants everyone to have the same memories.â
âThere are kinds of anger / you canât avoid / being placed on you.â
âThrough the trees to endure the leveling march of industry / to pass on.â
READ ALL OF DELUGE 8 [HERE]