Exquisite Corpse, Fall 2026

Love & Squalor Editorial Team

Maybe there’s a beating heart in a brown chair

soft, and new—

And sometimes terrible

though not unloved

she still dreams of her nape

on nights the moon kisses her face

and stroke the tears from her cheeks

feeling like a kid, again, dancing in the rain

Maybe tonight I’ll sleep where the blood tracks onto the floor

in a swirling line like a tree half-dead

that tree you kissed me under, in some faraway memory

it seems so drowsy now, a bird weighing down each drunk branch

drowsy now, the crow flew away, taking the dreams and keys with it.