A Cemetery Scrawl, Like Litter in the Wind
Zombie in sweatpants jogging in the ghettoarms stuck out lean and meancold soles slapping the greasy streetand my little girl...
Delirious as a blowtorch and begotten in the luminosity of forever love, you’ve discovered the infamous out-of-orbit literary journal you need to know about. Strap in for unconventional storytelling with an unpredictable edge. This is the home of Cuckooland fiction, revealing personal essays, bitter social assessments, subversive hymns, underwater obscenities, uplifting bad news, veiled confessions, hints of the erotic… And maybe even some dicey advice. Welcome.
Zombie in sweatpants jogging in the ghettoarms stuck out lean and meancold soles slapping the greasy streetand my little girl...
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