Anastasia Korbet

Rear Front Pulsation of the fontanelle beneath thin skin. Flicker of the matrix. Grain of digital…

Morning. Button. Fingers feeble.Collar chokes. Taste of salt.Grind of bone. Movements dead.Will erased. Habits stubborn. Flash…

Poetry

Where is the boundary of the plane stripped of all its skin?Why does the ash vibrate,…

Prose

I wake not in a place - in a wound. A protocol activates, crystallising the fact:…

Also published in English.“The Quiet Pull” was published in Wheel Journal.[Read the full English version →]

Prose

The elbow - a clot of petrified lime; the splayed fingers sunk fast into yellow ochre.…

Poetry

I. The House This house stood with a broken window,where twilight wove a wormwood confession.Ash bit…

Poetry

In this attic a draught licks the walls,the former God sleeps in a warm blanket.The forgotten…

Poetry

Sight served us - meek sentinel of the border,The crystal lens beat against cold glass.It raised…

Poetry

A body divides the bed in half.Early light strikes the parquet.The bedding has crept aside.Pressed into…

Poetry

I was just walking home through the square,An ordinary evening, coffee in my hand.A streetlight's shadow…

Prose

I'm not in pain. Just unbearably heavy. You say that I "fly" or "drag," but in…