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Issue #5: The Four Elements

Issue 5 of Embryo Concepts
Published on June 22, 2022

Continental Divide

By Linda Sanchez Sometimes late in the day, Marcus and I sit on the median strip and watch the eighteen-wheelers whiz by, tumblers of cheap supermarket wine in our hands, occasionally calling out guesses about each truck’s contents. Right after school and before dinner the trucks tend to carry elaborate quiches and pasta dishes. AfterContinue reading “Continental Divide”

On Weather

By Adrian Harte i was the ferocity of summer daythe pyrotechnics of those same nightsyou constant as the gulf streamsupplanting frigidity with balm me a gentle breeze on your necka first snowflake melting on the roadyou the equator and all the tropicsbulging but always in the right place i floated a cumulus adriftyou pulled theContinue reading “On Weather”

Why is there air?

By Morgan Rondinelli The more that I think about myself breathing, the stranger it feels. I sense my diaphragm stretching. There are barely perceivable obstructions in my sinuses. I can hear the air rushing past my nostrils. It’s rhythmic, but I can also control the pace. What if I forget to breathe? What if IContinue reading “Why is there air?”

The Crucible

By Kate Meyer-Currey Your life’s base metalmutates as flame hitsthe retort and its drossevaporates into moltengold. You are distilledinto elixir of experience.Your personal alchemyis transformative but itsfragile equilibrium is anunstable compound: lightas air, chancy as water,burns like fire and cold asearth. Align planets withyour personal cosmos toavoid malign influencefrom mundane elements.Be wary when antimony’smarauding wolfContinue reading “The Crucible”

Cold Water

By Robert Armstrong Cold water running onMy face,Trying to wash theNightmaresAway,Sleep fromMyEyes, Cold water running onMy face,Cleansing my soul,Whispers in theDarkness ofEternal night,Driving me to thePrecipice,OfInsaneThought, Cold water running onMy face,Scraping the grime ofThese streets,The impurities fromMy heart,Hands of sin,Pulling me,Tearing atMySkin, Cold water running onMy face,Is it enough,To purifyMe,From allThatPlagues mySight,MyFragileMind?

Grateful Dead

By Shieva Salehnia I scrawl these words,a few lines,in the hopethey will skiplike smooth and flat stones,carefully chosen fromdown the steep, rocky banksof the River Acheron,selected with carefor their even weight andflat shapefrom just under the water’s cold,clouded blue-brown surface.I sendthese words acrossthe endless space of time,to reach you. My brother spirit,I hopethe gold daricsforContinue reading “Grateful Dead”

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