Art: "Not food but progeny" by Aminta Dunn
Poetry: "And Then Tomorrow" by Jeremy Springsteed
I know when I turn off the light
the night will be lakes of plague.
The dream sun an orange bell pepper
inhabited by a ball of hornets.
Their wings and stings fighting against the flesh.
Fields of hunger.
Mountains inverted from extraction.
A sulfuric choke in the air.
Beaches of rotted whales.
A final perfection of filth.
In the morning the city will be anemic.
A hangover of hearts purged of hope.
Soft gray dulls the din of trucks.
People working like phantoms.
Sweets shelves empty, desperate for comfort.
Suspicion in every face.
We know we did this
but we want to know who did this.
A population looking for an escape hatch.
The nightmare expands.
What is there to do tonight
except to drink another beer
and read Celan with tears?
Nothing but closing bedroom doors
and fortifying for the fight.
My phone buzzing in fear,
“what will we do, what will we do?”
Tonight we sleep
blessed with night terror
so we can face day terror.
Published September 11th 2025
Jeremy Springsteed is a barista living in Seattle. He was one of the founders of the Breadline Performance Series and a member of the ReDrum poetry collective. His work has been published in The Book Of Black an anthology by Wingless Dreamer, SPREAD, The Paragon Press, Pidgeonholes, Underwood, Pageboy, Internet Void, and Another New Calligraphy. He is the author of two collections of poetry: A Guide To Getting Lost and Salt, Weasel, Corpse, and Other.
Uly makes art about multiplicity, connection, and in-betweens. “Not food but progeny” explores fluidity, being a fish, and the interconnectivity of fishes.