You are seeing an archive of Revolver 2012-2015. Check out our other projects at revolver.mn.
Into being, you arrive
& a tiny
God becomes
Your failures, your guardian
Your switchbacking
Guts
Mania accumulates
Little by little
Like the underskin
Of others beneath
A fingernail—
What to believe
Is made & unmade
Depending on how heavy
Your head beneath
The chaos of stars feels
Front page image by Velo Steve.
I believe I was the first to blow my firing squad a kiss.
Pucker up, lovelies, if you have lips.
Lips were introduced on Model 4501. They’re molded plastic, in Mamie Eisenhower pink. Someone on the fabrication team must have had a thing for his mother.
There is no worse prison than a prison run by nuns. If you are thinking I am talking about yardstick nuns, you are wrong. Those are Past Nuns. These are Future Nuns.
by Susan Koefod
But the story of Perpetua spread, quiet as a church mouse, from convent to convent until one-by-one, nuns began to lose their composure, began straining to hear the sound of a single Harley prowling the neighborhood late at night. Their desires were answered by sleepless nights of seemingly eternal silence.
