Words, like ink, have a tendency to spill into strange and unexpected shapes. Here, you will find a gathering of such stains—poetry that thrums under its breath, prose that twists in the dark, and excerpts of longer works that have yet to settle into their final form.

Some of these pieces are quiet, curling at the edges like forgotten notes. Others are louder, stories with too many teeth or sentences that rattle at their cages. All of them belong to the same peculiar family, stitched together from the same tangled thread.

Read them as you would peer into a cabinet of curiosities. Some are whole, some are fragments, and all invite you to linger.