The flood came hard, but crueller came her grin,
Sick smirk, shrugs at the drowning in the South.
Framed it as just strange storms that did them in,
How can such lies pour from her measly mouth?
FEMA starved so Trump could play puppet king,
Calls out partisans, starts slinging fake mud.
While sirens wailed, and mothers tried to cling
To rooftops where their children meet the flood.
No funds for sandbags — only border wall,
And internment camps for media’s show.
The storm exposed more than the rainfall’s gall:
It showed how far the rot and ruin go.
They blamed the sky, that hell was in their lands —
And Leavitt cawed at the blood on her hands.
An Anthology of Justice, Equality, and Resistance.
The Underland Review
We are seeking:
- → Poetry that twitches
- → Microfiction that self-destructs
- → Essays with fangs
- → Visual art that shouldn’t exist
- → Redacted files, haunted code, cursed diagrams, scanned receipts from imaginary revolutions
We do not care about your CV.
We do not require polished bios.
Previously published works? Sure.
We do not pay (yet — sorry, capitalism).
But we do offer love, weirdness, and a spotlight.
✴ Featured contributors will receive:
- A digital copy of the zine
- Features on our site and socials
- An invite to our glitch-lit open mic (date tba)
- The deep satisfaction of being canon in a lie
Deadline: August 10th, 2025
Format: PDF or Word for text. JPG/PNG for art. Max 1 piece per person.
Email: riverandceliainunderland@gmail.com
Subject line: This submission is a lie – [Your Name]
We don’t tolerate bigotry, AI slush, or boring work.
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