Everything my brother Moss does makes him grow. When he picks up a glass of water, his biceps bulge. Standing up from the couch, his quads pulse. Placing groceries on the high shelves of the pantry activates all three heads of his deltoids. Actual physical exercise—pushups, jumping jacks, dips—makes his body swell, monstrous and powerful. He’s the size of a linebacker. If he’s not careful, soon he won’t fit through doors.
Between Stars
Jennie Ziegler
In Time
Timothy Nolan
Passing participles lubricate my
losses, always: workin’ my last
gay nerve, playing zone defense
with a faerie-phrase on repeat. Is
a hiss a sound searching for the
flawless form, or a post-dated present
Marbled
Callie Crouch
And if you were to peel back my sun-scorched
skin – moving my tough flesh to the side and
picking at the tender meat nearly falling off the
bones of my ribcage and into your hands –
what would I look like to you?
The Therapy Here is for the Birds
Ivan Hobson
If the Internal Revenue Service audited seagulls,
a hundred or so of them would list this shipyard
as their primary place of business.
They would squawk job titles like:
food truck auditor, lunch time accountant,
and avian-Homo-sapien therapist (AHST).
