Articles by hex

There is an aperture in my hand, a thumb-print whirl where tissue once flowed uninterrupted—like a channel grown curious and turning back on itself. Last […]

Allowed only those senses which enabled its labor, the malus drone’s world was one of touch and smell. The scent of spring-warm tree bark, the […]

We called the pellucid tank in which we kept the man o’ war the box o’ war.  We called the creeping mossgrowing splendidly along the deck (despite there […]