Issue Twelve

This new issue of our little journal is calling all poppy-heads strewing scarlet in deep-green swamp-waters.

Calling the holidaymakers at their last resort.

Calling from the earth’s bared bones, the crumbled church clothed in moss and clotted birdshit.

Calling from under river cobbles and inside uncomfortable skins and behind the desk at the dead-end summer job and jaywalking the city streets in our new-old vintage trousers.

It's your final call now for the lovers on canal bridges, the calves in the cattle truck, the birds of our near-far dreams:

Hie, hie, come hither, and read on.