to nineteen BY STEPHANIE ZHANG does the candour of a grapefruit sky keep you awake? and a half empty silhouette stands with boxing gloves waiting for the other shoe to drop. you can feel the breath caught in your throat wedged between your molars and creeping up your spine, hiding behind the stage curtain waiting to flee an empty stage when inevitably someone says ‘macbeth’ and the theatre burns to ash. red is red and is the only. you’ll want the red, the bloodied face and flying teeth or at least the sweet childish red inside the thick peel of fruit buried within rinds softly beating because let me tell you about that red: i sleep with that red, like psyche with her demon husband, waking to fragrant possibilities but toddling on iron tracks waiting patiently for her final train ride. i could tell you of the agitation of red, could tell you of red’s persistent disquiet; i could tell you that i grow fond of the red, or simply tell you that i am the red, i am made of the red and to tell you: let the red in over your body just as i have.
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ART BY JEAN BAULCH