Updated: Jun 9, 2021
Maneo Mohale
of course I do. let it be
known that I store each one
of your gestures in that glassy part
of the morning, just here
until they wither. your finger pearled
in the soft oyster of my mouth.
your misshapen pulse. the secret
of its name in some grey-sheeted dark
tender one: what is a body but a vase?
let it be known
that I spent this time missing you:
each one.
originally published on Expound
Featured on 18 March 2021
Phelelani Makhanya There is a little yellow house at the corner of the street, where the jacaranda has painted the paving purple. Every morning the house appears with a new face. Its walls look untouc
Basil du Toit The rude vegetables are up to no good again, succumbing to irresistible inflations, their growth-tips, tautly congested, full of pregnant suggestion and promise; mutating buds, tinglingl
Ari Sitas After a day of stoning and gas an ancient chore beckons by the ocean’s lip - a crowd heaving, heaving, sifting through the sand for coins A happy bulldozer resting after eating up another ro