A fissure of light breaks
across the room—
Crystals rise like a congregation
summoned without a deity.
They hover and shift,
each speck
the letters of your name.
Unspoken.
Turning.
Time has yet to be confined.
The whole room
oscillates
between dance and memory.
You reach out—
not to touch,
but to see if your hand
still exists.
It doesn’t.
Only the light,
and the things that shimmer in it,
half-born,
unclaimed,
nearly holy.
But not quite.
Tomorrow
you will decide.
For now
you will stay.
Caught —
Turning
between
fragments of certainty—
like dust.
Or truth.
Or the nothing in between.
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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