a biotic

by Max Migdail

bats and butterflies

floating gloaters

never done justice

birds too

swoop and swerve and melt and mingle and m.c. escher into one

layers and plains become a fantasy

off glossed paper white and grey are purple and green and red and blue and orange and god 

alive to parallel expansion an exploration in corpuscularianism

better to develop forever on a two dimensional plane or exist confined within a third

frequently birds capture more of what it means

to be human raptors and ravens prey

my only acceptable murder

acted in aid

to scare a weakened swallow into the arms of an eagle

or let the bats end

or collapse the butterflies into a single frame

were apes able to fly

they would never touch the earth again

and would become confined to cages of branches 

and coat hangers shutting down tokyo

a biotic abiotic theory of truth


life ends when it stops being imagined as something        with an end

would fade to nothing and no one 

would notice not a thing

what makes a bat a bat

A Demonstration

by Megan Amero

this is the way i fall

over into the ground and 

this is the way the earth 

wraps itself around me

my blood turning green like envy with

each chlorophyll-laden beat of 

my underground heart.

this is the way the sky grabs me

by my exposed ankles— 

a stray breeze bestowing upon my skin

the thick cloak of frostbite.

this is the way i fall

moving with wingless flight;

this is the way my body

knows no end.