Symbiosis is a creative community primarily consisting of collaborating visual artists and writers. We pursue many ways to be codependent in shared spaces and produce a print annual magazine as well as digital content that showcase some of our aesthetic manifestations.
remember that dream, when you were
the forest? tips of trees reaching
to kiss the air, and themselves
and fill bellies with their wonderful sap
every breath, jolt, dash, and
padded foot on your earth.
Each step she took was unsure, but she was certain of her decision. The cobbled streets weaved around strange, dimly lit corners of the city that were bathed in the soft glow of street lamps.
What the hell am I doing here?
What you are supposed to do, of course.
Because you’re supposed to.
precious, a summer gem
sleeping in a window, a glance
filtering through the lunar light
The farmer’s wife watched two men seated on a wooden cart while they turned fresh dirt and worms in the distant fields. She squinted her eyes and studied the rows of lumpy clay beyond the barrier. The cart’s spiral blades tilled long mounds of earth that tapered toward the horizon, stopping at a line of oaks that marked another plot of land.
Yesterday’s monster: Today’s
spills and burnt paper—
The woman who was not ours
We were wandering around fifth avenue that day after frozen yogurt and a day of making love
Two sages from different ages
channeled through a nexus that defies physics.
Standing awkwardly beneath the red tinged sky
our synergy dominates the cosmos.
We’ve found the secret of time and placed it inside a bottle.
We used to dig up onion grass and crush the baby white bulbs at the roots, pretending to make tonics with the juice that only we could drink. Just us, you’d say as you licked the top of your lip like you were really going it drink it. That sweet-sour green juice would make us invincible, we thought. We’re immortal.
You asked me on your birthday where my ring was. It was well past midnight when the last of your friends left. The sloppy remnants of ice-cream cake were mixed in with seven slender candles. It was a shrine of sorts in my memory. I could inhale the lingering scent of wax.
: I dug into the flesh.
One touch is all it took for him
to love me.
But he is the kind of boy
Senna could not think of the moment he lost his constancy. It might have been on his sixth birthday, when he learned that his brother would not be coming back from the war.
Daryl the kid magician only knew one trick because it was the only one he needed. The people in town called him “Daryl the Kid.”
I visited the garden this morning
The one I saw my grandfather lift off the ground