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"The prelude itself is the crackle of snow."

About Abject House

We are a genre-less space of independent poetry and prose, hosted and posted on this site and elsewhere. We want to live outside our own heads. We believe in spaces that encourage exploration outside and through genres, and want to sleep in rooms bleeding with voices that are strange, unfamiliar, revolutionary, absurd. We believe in sunken ceiling-texts, cellars brimming with dark growths of surrealistic prose-poetry-x, and dens dense with the tangled overgrowth that happens when politics and literature cross-pollinate. Stay awhile with us in our abject house.

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