peter laberge stripping

South Carolina | Aug. 2021

It’s that time of year again: stripping the beaches of their pastels, pastels twirling through the winded sand. Almost like it’s planned. The men in the changing stalls stripping, then dressing, then stripping—they’ve come and gone, given way to the basic straight couples running for cover—they know, of course, rain is harmless. They must know rain is rain is rain is…god, I want to give them all a show—waist-deep, rising, unafraid, my legs wrapped around Rob, who’s walking us further in—

mary buchinger

Incendiary

Say my life is a fire and I burn books wine food I consume stub-winged hopes crickets crows I eat cotton and ink friend brother son smack my lips my flames flit crest swell