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92 lede

Parasite, here partially excerpted, is a novel by Stephen Boyer

I am not sure where or how or when, in all my mind's wandering, I first came to Positive Wishing, but I believe it was near the outset of my choosing to stop adhering to my parents’ reality. Not that linear constructs matter, and I don’t mean to give linearity power when I address it, and I’m aware that with every beginning comes an ending and endings only signify the beginning.
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Laura Grodin's... The anatomy of my autonomy

is not a place, although you hang flowers from my shoulders. Upside down they'll last longer, pollinate crevices in the grass to mark where I once was.

The Hand Writing the Eye. by Connor Fisher

Each time that I
Begin is enough.
Each start etching a
Motto over doors
And windows. Words
Turned and gently
Resting on my hands
On my knees my lap
In my mind held in the old
Cup of my stomach my
Strength and sadness
Gripped in my teeth
My trembling little
Fingers my thoughts my
Thoughts my eyes and
Each eye apart a
Bit of my small view
My small call and my
Guilt or worry my lips

if the human centipede had been constructed exclusively from mouths, leaving in reality a sequence of only two people with their mouths sewn together, not kissing but breathing in whatever air was stuck in the other's throat, and never able to pull themselves away

we would
have spun (with spin of golden
thread, or, maybe once a month,
of dizzy fall, too gone to care, to count) and
coiled together. lying spiraled,
pale, cramped: like root, or tight-crossed fingers—not twin lines,
praying for fortune, but meddling digits, scratching after scabs.
By Eric Eich