Shout into the void like a purr, this circus of fingerprints still not convincing the world of an epidemic. Dig into the earth once more; add another box, another black body as old ladies shudder at the sight. They come in steady rhythm: tick, tick, tick. Names change, yet actions ratchet the same gears. “A clusterfuck,” you hear a stranger moan over the New York Times, and you nod in agreement, though you’re not really listening. You’re thinking of the bottom of the ocean, of squid and tentacles wrapped around your body, protecting you like a shield.
Benjamin Woodard lives and teaches in Connecticut. His recent writing has appeared in Cheap Pop, Alternating Current, and Kenyon Review Online. He is a Senior Editor at Numéro Cinq Magazine, and helps run Atlas and Alice Literary Magazine. You can find him at benjaminjwoodard.com and on Twitter at @woodardwriter.
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Cover Photo:”Miniature Map #6″ by Toti O’Brien (http://totihan.net/artist.html)