Kat Nestel
Pittsburgh, PA
@klawsterone
ISSUE 3 - QUEER LOVE
Sparrow Hawk Spunk
your eyebrows are the wings
of a sparrow hawk,
landing in a valley of budding acacia.
As you explore the wide expanse,
your neon lights flicker
like they are inviting me to tea
when I see them asking me
to slide closer,
down a diner’s booth.
no sway jose
The tempest is a swing dancer,
pulling you from a table
to be its partner
as stars still slow-dance overhead.
Every step shakes the floor,
but never sways you,
the breeze that comes in
and out like a lioness.
ISSUE 2 - RESILIENCE
Jörmungandr
seabirds circle
pinkie to thumb
above my wrist
as my crew sings
a jaunty tune
for safe passage.
Days pass
with eye-scooping numbness,
and I raise my sight
to the heavens,
hoping to see into the eye
of the storm.
While the gods consider a divine offering,
mortals honor a sacrifice.
The winds that had been ripping
away at the mast have been quelled,
and now I can hear my shuddering lungs.
A warm ocean breeze engulfs me
for a moment before riding onward,
and I set course after it.
My eye strays
from the high waters subsiding
to the serpent writhing
pinkie to thumb
around my wrist
in the undercurrent.
moonflower
It is 20XX.
The buzz of dissent has long since
fallen to mouth-breathing ears.
Beloved queens have been dethroned,
insurgency denied,
and alliances denounced.
Amongst the disarray,
Chaos crowns itself king.
The bees flee the earth,
seeking refuge in a porous comet.
With the galactic hive established,
the drones fly to the moonflower
to gather its sweet nectar.
The stars remind them of home,
fireflies dancing in the wide expanse,
and, for a moment, they remember
what used to be their whole world
before it withered away at its roots.
Tears sting their eyes as they set a course
for a new beginning,
the great beeyond.
ISSUE 1
Hubris Cube
you twist your fingers,
deftly matching colors
as frantic applause echoes
within the catacombs of your mind,
where you mummify the voices
who have the audacity to claim
that your perfect lines
are nothing more than a party trick
played by many
who see themselves as beyond the box,
despite being trapped
by its ever-shifting walls.
Soul Strips
This world is paper mâché,
a squalling child
who was baptized in glue
and served layers of newspaper
as an act of communion
by disembodied hands.
As the layers fuse,
self-proclaimed parents argue
about breastfeeding religion
dressing by gender,
and punishing bed-wetting
to the full extent of the law
while shooting up from pipelines
and smoking coal.
The child watches,
as rabbit holes and war
weather and crack their skin.
Crumbling, the world cries out
in hopes that people will remember
that they are its patches.