Take, for instance, Rebecca Ansorge’s haunting , a memoir-in-verse which culls the titles of its sections from the anatomy of a conch. Or, Oswald del Noce’s arresting :

“by now I’ve found your
hand hidden among the architecture of cinema seats
the pictures moving boldly across the room
that train-track projection, jelly-fish suspended in air,
patron saints of microscopic dust”

So take a look – this issue is packed with fresh, thought-provoking poetry, prose, and translations, all of which will make you reconsider what writing “should” be.