submissions 2023 & 2024

thank you so much to everyone who submitted their work

playlist by baxter, listen while you browse

refund by lucas gelpi

How do you return a person?

To refund the ones that expected more

I came with no receipt or warranty

No price tag nor bar code

And on the days that I can’t breathe

Or the nights I can’t sleep

There is no repair shop for a person like me

There are no batteries to replace

You can’t take me apart

To build me again

Maybe the instructions came unclear

Or they got lost somewhere

But it’s too late now to fix things

As I near my expiration date

My use becomes less and less

I guess it’s fair to say

that a return would be useless anyway

"lil guy" by matthew perez

caroline van zeijts


poems by milo tantillo

“It’s Hot Out” dated 8/25/22

It’s hot outside today. I’m sitting in the sun. 

Sitting in the sun without sunscreen on. 

I feel my ears burning but it’s only been a minute. 

I’m waiting in the sun for a boy to arrive. 

A sweet boy, more like a man. 

But not “man” in the sense that 

I’m scared of him. Never. 

He makes me not afraid of the sun,

The sunburn. The damage. 

He gets me excited. Excited to be burned. 

Because that’s better than feeling

Nothing at all.

“The Bug Lady” dated 8/25/22

I’m not sure if she’d like me calling her this, but…

The Bug Lady is my friend. 

The Bug Lady answers my questions about bugs. 

But that’s not her job. 

That’s just her life. 

The Bug Lady is in law school 

(For human law, not bug law)

And she wants to save the world. 

I have so much admiration for 

The Bug Lady and her passion for knowledge. 

But most of all,

I’m thankful for her friendship. 

"Forgetting Fosters’ Pond” dated 1/13/2021

I’ve been lonely

And, oh, so confused. 

Thinking ‘bout how you had used me

For the body

And not the soul

Makes me feel low…

And here I am, it’s 2am

Thinking ‘bout how

I could go back again

To the places we used to go…

Fosters’ Pond, Blueberry Patch:

I think that I could handle that,

But it doesn’t mean I want to. 

And I don’t know 

just what my future holds

But I’ll get there on my own. 

And I don’t care 

What your parents think about me, 


I still miss your dog. 

This is an out-of-love love song,

A “thankful for the love that it was”-song

I don’t think you know

How much you once meant to me. 

You helped me through some of the worst years of my life and

Honestly, looking back

It probably wasn’t so great for you. 

But I’ll be real, the past few years have been hard on me

But now I finally can see

A way to move on. 

I hope if you hear this out-of-love love song,

You’ll be grateful for the love that it was, long ago. 

So long you may not remember

How much you once meant to me. 

As I write this out-of-love love song

I cry for the love that it was, even though

I suspect you dried your tears

Long, long ago

But I’ve been slow. 

Yet now I’m out-of-love love song writer,

The heart I carry now feels so much lighter. 

It’s bittersweet to think now

How much you once meant to me…

And I still miss your dog. 

“Dig Deep” dated 9/21/22

It’s cool that you read,

So you can read me. 

If you turn my pages

And dog-ear them too

Maybe I’ll open up. 

Did I tell you I write? 

Well, darling I do. 

Think I could write stanzas,

And pages, and chapters,

And volumes of you. 

I wanna dig deep,

Deep into you. 

I wanna dig deep,

Oh, like lovers do. 

I wanna dig deep,

Under your skin. 

I wanna dig deep,

‘Til I’m six feet under. 

Let’s build a foundation, 

Let’s build something real.

Let’s build up the floor,

And the walls, and roof,

And the love that we feel. 

Let’s build a pool. 

We can dive in the deep end. 

Though it’s scary for me,

Haven’t dove in five years,

Might forget how to swim, but…

I wanna dive deep,

Deep in with you. 

I wanna dive deep,

Oh, like lovers do. 

I wanna dive deep,

So my feet can’t touch the ground. 

I wanna dive deep, 

‘Til my lungs give out. 

Did your lungs give out yet?

I like that you’re sober. 

Is that ok to say?

It means that I’m meeting the real you,

Without all that shit in the way. 

I thought you seemed honest,

Least, from what I could tell. 

But you didn’t tell me that 

You needed space or

You needed a break. 

You just left me…

I wanted to dig deep,

Deep into you. 

Wanted to dig deep,

Like lovers do. 

I wanted to dig deep, 

Under your skin. 

Wanted to dig deep,

‘Til I was six feet under…

It felt like




Baby to me you were the most 

Precious thing that I’d found

In this world. 

Been digging for 23 years

And I’d dig 20 more,

If it meant that I would find you,

My love. 

But you let me down and you tore out my heart,

Threw it in the dirt.

That’s why I hurt.

So I’ll just keep digging,

Searching for a love,

A love that is pure. 

For a love, so unlike yours. 

hey there,

in the spirit of responding to random flyers I see around town, here's a link to my info / music

i'm a musician living in park slope playing under the moniker 'means and ways'.  i released a full length record a few months ago.



Means and Ways is a Brooklyn-based indie rock project led by Quinn Mongeon.  Their music blends elements of alt-country, surf rock, and shoegaze.  Their new album "Fear Filter" addresses Quinn's struggle with a panic attack disorder.  The album aims to describe the frustration and exhaustion of those experiences in the hopes that others connect and feel less alone.

RIYL: Belle & Sebastian, Elliot Smith, Chris Cohen 


translated by baxter speed

original author: boris khersonsky

excerpt from: Dedicated to Karamzin, journal “Khreschatyk”, Number 3, 2007

In this park you often 

encounter old ruins.

Some of these structures

were built like ruins

a romantic past 

created in hindsight.

So, people think it out, imagine it to the end,

and finish telling 

the story of their lives

where nothing happened.

The owner wrote

a biography of the land

that he wanted to settle.

It did not work out,

Something did not take work out for them.

And here’s the thing—those buildings

where people lived, they were wrecked.

And what was always ruins,

was in a much better state,

Than what was wrecked.

The stone from a partially demolished house,

that had a balcony and Doric columns,

was used to construct barracks.

But the barracks were also partially demolished

Or, most likely, 

just were not finished.

The people left.

This was for the best:

The trees were spared.

Massive trees.

Brown-green moss

on the north side of the trunks.

They can be used to find the right way. 

From the very outset, 

you should understand

what you are building here,

what will exist on this spot. 

Made from nothing.

poems by RSL

Thoughts That Don’t Make Sense

Without you

That’s a phrase that’s been on my mind

A man said it on TV once

And I wonder if you heard it too

I think a lot of things about you

Now there’s a battle in my memory

A history to be written by the victor

I had a dream that you threw a snowball at me

It landed right in my face, filled with nails and saltpeter

You screamed and kicked me until I blacked out

Waking, I laugh

My subconscious has run out of tricks

And my ego must be satiated

At least one of you fits the bill

Naturally, I’m the hero of this story

All that contradicts must be torched

My devotion guides my soul 

Wandering in a circle but I’m somewhere different entirely

I’m weighing the hypotheticals

The what-ifs, just as I did before

All love ends in grief 

But that’s no reason to shutter a heart

I miss you all, ex-friends and lovers

I crave our intimacy and our camaraderie

My wounded ego wants you to know I’ve moved on

That I stand against your vile worldview

That those pictures didn’t hurt me

That those unanswered texts mean nothing to me

But what’s the point of all that?

In short bursts,

I stare into space and retrace our footsteps.

Afterward, I shout, “I hate you all!”

Because admitting otherwise will make life much harder

Time to move along, always forwards, never back

my indoctrination

In the morning, I wonder

Why does your venom still sting?

You were only trying to defend yourself after all.

In tears and with outstretched arms, you begged me to crucify you

A sentence should fit the crime and you’ve already lost too much blood

Instead, the sun will burn your altar and the ashes will lie in a shoebox 

I’ve come to terms with being a liar 

Nostalgia clouds my reflection 

It brings me back to places once abandoned

I speak into empty halls and I hear nothing but echos, bouncing off the stained glass in my favorite rooms

On occasion, whispers will come and I will entertain them

But guests must leave eventually

Instead, I sacrificed myself in solitude and became immortal

I’m not a masochist but pain has taken me to wonderful places

I dug my knife deeper and deeper and watched all the wounds heal

My indoctrination is complete and I can’t stop crying

customer service

In an instant, a plum turns into a prune

A dial tone drones in the background while a fool opens an address book

There are roses on the cover and the binding squeaks as my fingers flip through its flimsy pages

I dial the right numbers but I don’t recognize who’s on the other line

“I want to talk to a human” I say

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that”

“I want to talk to a human” I shout

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that”

“I want to talk to my human” I cry


 molly mccutcheon 

insta: @molly_mccutch

twitter: @molly_mccutch

youtube: @molly_mccutch 

My name is Molly McCutcheon, I'm an artist in Brooklyn and I saw your flyer hanging at one of my favorite coffee shops. I have a solo exhibit — the opening night event (Feb 1st, 2024) has been sold out but this is an ongoing gallery that will probably be operating for a few months. It is located in a wine bar as we partnered to host events together. 

clare shiraishi

@un_gagged / @clarekei_ 


nearly every night

when my eyes shut

i encounter a man

any kind of man

and he is brandishing a weapon

any kind of weapon

and i am in every kind of setting

a jungle

my old apartment

a hotel hallway

my friends home

a target

an ikea food court

a sidewalk outside the club

an alley

a cove by the water

but some man is always there

and he is always staring, menacingly

and i always believe he is trying to kill me

and he is always trying to kill me

and he always almost gets me

and every morning i wake up

just in time

and remember these are just dreams

to me

but then i check social media

and realize that my dreams

are just the realities of trans people


Meraxes Medina

Alex Franco

Diamond Brigman

Kitty Monroe

Nex Benedict

Ashia Davis

Reyna Hernandez

Torrence “TK” Hill

these names and souls

now can only exist in dreams

and i just hope their dreams are different from mine

reyna delcid

Esporas de amargura con el deseo de amar (2024)

49" x 72"

Acrylic, watercolor, pastel, and natural dye on canvas