- Follow Eunoia Review on WordPress.com
Eunoia Review publishes on a daily basis, so it may take some time for your work to appear if there are several contributors scheduled ahead of you. At present, we have work scheduled to be published until 4 March 2019.
Note: Our site is best viewed in Chrome.
If you like what you're reading, why not click the buttons to share it with your friends?
- Selected Pieces from Submersible Tour, 2219 CE eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2019/02/23/sel… 1 hour ago
- Archetypes eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2019/02/23/arc… 13 hours ago
- Chinese Tea eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2019/02/22/chi… 1 day ago
- 731,920 views
Tag Archives: Daryl Sznyter
The perfect dress. My mother’s dress. I envy the dress. Pretty yellow dress. I. Pretty. Mother. My mother hanging the dress. My mother. Hanging. Dress. My mother hanging in the dress. I. Envy. I envy hanging. I envy hanging the dress. I envy hanging in the dress. I envy hanging my mother … Continue reading
forest light on your skin clatters what does a sinkhole smell like we are sinking floating fishes mold and permutations i’ve always been afraid of the umber in your eyes you are singing a song you were always singing a … Continue reading
Thom Yorke’s voice rings like church bells and my skin sizzles with the holy-shit fires and my brain becomes a mockingbird singing over the church bells and I momentarily forget about the boy who sparked the flame that orchestrated my … Continue reading
somewhere feelings are the color of salt somewhere twilight isn’t so greedy somewhere i smash dishes against the wall i drown out the noise of violent bodies somewhere feels like home feels like heaven i could call you without repercussions somewhere i love … Continue reading
He brings her back from the scene of a crash only to force her open like a locket, struggling to find a home for the scalpel. Her skin splits at the blade. Festering fruit. Its vacuous stench pricks the nostrils … Continue reading
I believe in broken screen doors, eyes clenched shut like fists, bricks and the diluted blues of the old picnic table in a back yard I no longer call my own. These things were my father before you replaced him … Continue reading