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Love, death, church, and werewolves
This poem from Scout is a guilty reflection on the hyper-intensity of a relationship which was supposed to be casual and the tendency to look for salvation in the things that kill us fastest.
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Gay god
Theo Coles writes of the world that has sunk its teeth in, of the heartbroken poets, of the peach, ocean blue and pink aliveness of a gay god.
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pews and pleas and pearls and please
Emma Morrison worships women like God, aka Sapphic Catholicism guessed at by someone who’s never been in a church.
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The Seven Sorrows of Mary
Mary Mosteller writes to the Immaculate Heart bearing her name, hung in the home of her grandparents —weighing heavy over her.
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This bread is my body
Personal deconstruction of evangelicalism where there is still a craving for the intimacy of connection, who decides a bar can’t serve as the temple, and the laying on of hands has to be religious?