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Issue #2 | Zero Readers

Exonerate Me

Let me be your little moon,
lunar beck, a dionean shipwreck.
Take me off your orbit soon –
I’ll still dream your hands around my neck.

You must be sick of hearing me apologise
so exonerate me, take away my voice.
Make a noose for me, I’ll follow through,
praying mute and powder-blue.

I’m so tired of negotiation. Give me easy absolution
cut off my tongue with the right hymns unsung
blacken my gaze blank eyes ablaze
a metal spoon would suffice

I want to be a sacrifice
of luminous violent lust –
grind me to planetary dust!






Kaisa Saarinen grew up in the Finnish countryside, studied environmental politics and now works as a research analyst in London. @kuuhulluutta

Natural History

The night my father died I went
to the museum to see
The Whale.
You know the museum?
You must know The Whale.
Its facsimile hovers
suspended by
invisible strings. It was
my father‘s favorite.
The museum.
The Whale.
I hate that museum.
I hate The Whale. Dizzy,
suspended by
invisible strings, I close
my eyes and imagine
my body anywhere else.





Katelyn Botsford Tucker is a teacher and writer. She paints, is often caffeinated, and absolutely terrified of outer space. You can find her on Twitter @KatelynBotsford.

on temptation

it’s not the willow pattern plate
behind cold museum glass

it’s not your brother’s birthday cake
white frosted on the pantry shelf

it’s the diaphragm
pulling in smoke from the ruined hall

it’s the hand
clasped round metal five hundred volts hot

it’s the skull’s
connection with the steering wheel

thrown long before we knew where it would stop






Katy Naylor is an office worker, a teacher and a mom of two. She lives on the south coast of England, and makes games and writes poems in the time that falls between the cracks.

mainstay

cast off your past like so much dry skin
come down with me to the water

loose those knots which bind you to your old pain
the empty cup
the mast at your back

let me be the harbour for your second chances
find them here
in the seaweed
on the rocks





Katy Naylor is an office worker, a teacher and a mom of two. She lives on the south coast of England, and makes games and writes poems in the time that falls between the cracks.

mood gambles

At the mind’s casino
Slots spin to soothe and then to stir
Things up, high as jackpot dreams
Pull the lever again, again
More more more
Mental payout pours
Coins for corner stores
Choose candy or wine
Not the toilet right behind
The bowl fills, the bowl spills
Water out from under
Past the door
Less less less
Odds 6:1 on flood
Water chin high and climbing
Shoes heavy as mob’s concrete
I fear my lungs, my breath, gasping
I swallow easy as pills
Precious pink capsules

Dose drowsy
On the watertop, I float easy
On my back.
Ok ok ok






Lexi Inez works at a medical school and, at this moment, may be organizing a grant application. Or reading an email chain that is 50 people each saying some version of “great meeting everyone”. Mornings in the office, she skips coffee or tea and goes straight for the hot chocolate. You can find her on Twitter, @LexiInez

Near Naked Now

CW: violent imagery

i am hunched over ugly like an animal screaming without a sound a cockroach scurried away from me and threw up onto the ground he woke up one day and crashed into earth i want to see fat peel away and i admire how the flesh tries to glue itself shut the same way in that motel my legs pried apart with a crowbar loosened by black tar funneled down my throat gagging from the press of your mouth your lips like sausages eyes lined with fat pulling layers of my skin apart nobody’s home inside the receptionist has gone to bed the earth continues its rotations i can only look at the fat bulging obscenely from your stomach underneath forever churning with fries head buzzing like a hole and when my blood coagulates i will finally be in control of my core
               dirty & sweet.






Madeleine Tomasoa is a copywriter and a videogame writer from Jakarta, Indonesia. They enjoy watching cars go around in a circle for fun.