"We publish two poems by each author that in some way or another pair together as a “couplet” of poems. We only consider two poems per submission."
Vibe: Weird / outsider / wtf even is it
Response time:
1-3 months
Payment:
No
Simultaneous submissions:
Yes
Previously published:
No
Submission fee:
Free
Expedited submissions:
No
Available in print:
No
Examples online:
Yes

Important stuff

Active on social media

Genres

👌

Poetry

Max pieces: 2Send us poems that pair, rhyme (literally or figuratively), complement, hold hands, translate, juxtapose, or otherwise can’t live without each other.

Examples

'HOW TO STAY SAFE' by W. Todd Kaneko

(excerpt)
When your wife asks if you want another child, tell her that the sun’s core is nuclear fusion that will one day consume the Earth, that the corner cemetery is wet and full of quiet bodies. There are guns on the news today—a grocery and a synagogue, and a school is no place for children anymore. Your son has a husky wail that cuts through the night.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'WHEN OUR TWIN SONS ARE BORN' by W. Todd Kaneko

(excerpt)
I’m not thinking about those movie scientists reinventing the dinosaur over and over. A baby is not a thunder lizard, not a tangle of scales and teeth out for an easy meal, but two babies are a swarm of fingernails and hunger for love in the darkest heart of the night. Two babies arrive in the hospital room, with an announcement of everything we’ve been feeling these past few months, love starved and panicked for extinction. Extinction in fancy restaurants, in school parking lots, by the Chinese place in the mall food court—everywhere at once empty of bodies.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'Sad Girl Sonnet #15' by Diannely Antigua

(excerpt)
I leave museums too fast like the men in the morning— no coffee, maybe a kiss on the cheek, sometimes I’ll call you. I stroll by Michelangelo paintings, some da Vinci, whole rooms of Botticelli. Still, there is no limit to my dissatisfaction with the world. Nothing feels right, throat burning. I want to go home. I text the man I’ve been fucking. I want to love him but he probably won’t let me. I leave Italy in a month.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'Sad Girl Sonnet #18' by Diannely Antigua

(excerpt)
The summer I moved to New York was the summer of BV: bacterial vaginosis. I wanted to blame the subway platform heat. Or the new silk underwear I bought to feel like Carrie Bradshaw, my true Sex and the City moment, and here was BV, stinky BV, me and BV at my fourth visit to the health center already. I want to blame a dick. But I don’t know whose to blame. I could blame my pussy, her distorted rainbow of brown, deeper brown, pink, red, and purple.
Read the full piece in the magazine

Contributors on Chill Subs (0)

No one has added their publication in this magazine yet :) Be the first!

All contributors

Contributors are coming :)

(or not, maybe it's too many of them)