News Shop Digi Pubs Glyphöria ÖMËGÄ Podcast Events Submissions About Distribution Connect


nic lachance


“hey tim i’m taking a mental health day”

“hey tim, the father gold rode me mental”

“hey tim, mental health tanks dissolving gold gaza”

“hey tim, these day takes more fathers”

“hey tim i saw a truck with stickers of

old growth forests

now i am losing my skin in the park

No stable, only curling

i am not real

i belong to the grove

where rules gasp

don’t say unprecedented

i leave early

i listen closely

is it else-hood?

are my cells in protest

are trees making boundaries

even Concrete is a metaphor

even concrete belongs

even buildings want Breath

their clipped wings Otherwise

slugging sunlit solitude

Housing our misery

Certainty could never

i’m begging you

to Love this entire hole

the grass drunk in Allowance

Do not be afraid

let palms cup the Open

you are safe to crack your Promise

rub your ankles back on the Loam

damp, the way It joins you

the Source of blush and time

the Humid and brown

is This what we wanted?

to Die before we die

using the Wind

on forged emails

congo’s gold

so i could be seen

all these crusts

contouring the possible

is your bcc: a spell

are you a secret

blink twice

if you can tolerate

the torrent of Together”

this of white

still i try to love us
we are too busy
moaning over
cadaver clip
rust belts
is an investment in
unmaking the
Earth’s chest
(it is all Her chest)
we don’t ask
where it hurts
darling dopamine
hit club
still try to love us
its like loving
a father who doesn’t
hold your
hand anymore
obsessed with form
and control calls
cornering affect for
good results
just to get it right
i’m not depressed
i just want perfect
perfect bio
perfect pic at
protest plowing
my reverence for
living without
asking what battle
i house today
in here in body way
always this battle
i talk to my body
like they talked
about the Land
“work more”
a fortune is not a fortune
if it steals from longitude
it was never Gold
it was the Land’s pore,
why did we Steal
a pore
Earth’s lung pulsing
forming peonies
knuckles of soft fruit
made into market acquisition
and suv’s in california
with no driver but they painted
the outside white in case
trees: i cannot feel anymore
they we ruined haiti
they made us forget about 1791
and 1804 and before
they sliced it in half
then in half then half
again until you could
not recognize her face
the pursuit was
supposed to be enough
but pursuits always
bring us back to
what got us on the boat
in the first place
i want white to die
not i want us all dead
but this thing this
soothing war
be sky everywhere but die
lower to ground level
rung with moss heads and
the promise of algae but die
collapse but die
i promise us each
parrot each raw grass
protein cell and rose leaf wall
scribble tail dna twist
walmart textile will celebrate it
but die and black tea leaf
each ancestor and each inch
will sing as we take our
place underneath the rot
the reptile storms will love us
the feet of water the oil sand
particles the poetry of losing
but die the skin on fire
the river party
the red ease
maybe die will
become Life
but die
maybe die will seed
but die
maybe we will dance hard
and become
the up-swing of a breath
like every piece
of Life out here
but die
maybe we die
and become
every other
piece of Life
out here
but die

“rupture rupture
speak to me
what does whiteness
hide from me”


you smoke

i spiral

we dance

you fast

like loss

no word

no asking

no ember

no shore

no risk

no hold

no finish

no fish

no rescue

no ease

just a promise

with your garage

you ache

i dared

i cry

at our fridge picture

i meet your new kid

gripping your waist

unwrapping her iPad

you’re in someone’s love


i drive home


this dog i drag


so i can text you

to tell you that

i go to therapy

i do good

i study you

like a highway

my chest

has another cave

wide leg of inside work

pepsi bodies the river onto
torso and breast milk chemicals
i weep modern plastic
“trans makes you feel”
i’ll tell you about salaried state church people
the protest of a body
how translucent
a body is what happens
so trees can know us
“trans is a landing place”
not a political callous
with multi government names
the world says a lot stop with nicknames
instead focus on plastic splinters and
y2k renewal featuring thin white people
turning away from time’s passing
“trans is a surrender”
i leave body after the Birch call
they show me how they were born
God once told me
“trans is a prayer come through a body”

the way you are in everything

a colleague reminds me of
an ex reminds me of you

reminds me of the wide earth
scarring 3 500 belly up

fish from the chemical plant
reminds me of the way borders

eat for encasing
reminds me how paint dries

and can be felt as
something different

reminds me of geese flying home

reminds me of belly laugh from
before you were 40

the hill shapeshifting from heat
and tourists

reminds the way breathing
is a mother to one lung then the other

reminds me before summer
there is spring

reminds me of the garage door
you closed and wished something
to leave

special, special indica

i use for: endearing soil science, ribcage lining, throat of wound or is it the wound of thus far, the algae tumbling, mounds of country milk, mosaicism or narcissism, ‘synthetic mystic w/ no boundaries, the imperfect sear, seemed good plan, seemed bullet proof, until i edge the porch door, strike a light, sucked a sort, reunited with Father, shame print, green alameda, heaven-lite, just a body belong, inseam treasure, God bubble, beam pull, oh nic, oh knock, oh bust knee, oh bruise heavy, the wound loves you, le soleil too, Life forgives you, zoom out, go zonal, go cut piece, go in peace i’m stoned, stones find me, grass leg, little longer, gaping arm, wheels going, i dig, i joke, i inside dirt, j’ai peur de l’absolu, is this mom, is this soma, is this too, does eternity like me, will gelato mint make something of me , can edge move, can hope hurt, can buds billow, can belly just belly, can the bone trick me, and what about becoming, and the debt of this living?

nic lachance

nic lachance (they/them) is a voice and word artist whose work has been published in A Queer Anthology of Healing, GUTS magazine, ROOM magazine, F, M and the Other, GRIFFEL, Sand Lit & Art, Damaged Goods Press, among others. their work tilts around queer, eco-somatic inquiries of the felt, the wound and the body. they are currently based in Tiohtià:ke, “montreal”.