We Make Zines

a place for zinesters - writers and readers

working on a new zine about a break up. working title perpend. opening page...


there were so many plastic bags flying around yesterday. a bag stuck to a tree pretending to be a flag. a bag creeping across the pavement pretending to be a snake. bags being birds. or they could have been bombs. you cannot really tell what is going on till it actually happens.

you left. and no matter how many times you come crawling back, and no matter if I let you in, it makes no matter. there was a fire. you were a fire. and I got burned.


does that sound utterly drab, too cryptic, does it make you want to read more?

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