About the Author

after Kiik Araki-Kawaguchi

Benjamin Niespodziany's body of work is a lobby of dirt. A hallway for cloud gazing. A raisin telling the sand it's a plum. His hum has been classified as a statement on sauce. His saliva has been published in Skunk Tongue Review, Tulip Spit, and less than a few others. He's won nothing and never will. If you kill him, the wind won't notice and neither will his therapist, Terrance the Ghost. The recipient of a 2022 Shoeshine, Niespodziany splits his time between eating seasons and sleeping alone. If you know him well enough to pronounce his name correctly, no one will believe you, not even him. His kids don't exist. His piss, it glows.

Dawn O’Clock

after Amelia Gray

Walk in circles until you need to sit. Call your townhouse neighbor and ask to borrow their dog. Ponder what it means to breathe backwards. Split your time by rhyming orange with porridge with Cornish with spore. Count to four for one million minutes. Extend your unclean hand when you see a king or a CEO. Throw an elbow to their largest bodyguard or whoever is in charge or keeping them alive. Do not cry when they pin you down and question you and all the weapons kept nestled in your bag. Understand you are foolish for following these orders. Understand you should have never listened to me at all.