By Mark Fleming
easy groove your voice
crackle pops like
merry-go-round
classic vinyl
what does a poet tell another
one who showed them
through beige plains
to a pool of speech
let cool water move
through cupped hands
to a dry mouth
teaching it to drink
you don’t say thank you
despite many thanks earned
you don’t say anything
you make yourself available
to the next leather tongue
dipping your ladle into the mirror
and letting the water drip
from one person
to the next
all you taught me, Katie
is how to cup my hands

Draining by Lindsay Liang
About the Author
Mark Fleming is a poet from Cleveland, Ohio.
About the Artist
Lindsay Liang is an interdisciplinary artist whose work traces the vanishing contours of memory—personal, cultural, and biological. Raised on Daishan Island, her early intimacy with the sea continues to inform her understanding of time, disappearance, and continuity. Water, in her practice, flows as childhood ocean, fetish structure, and bodily fluid—both materially and ecologically. Originally trained as a pre-med student, Liang published scientific research on genes regulating longevity. Her background in neuroscience and pathology shapes a heightened sensitivity to the unstable boundaries between the normal and the pathological and informs her visual exploration of the body as a site of transformation. Drawing from dream theory, embodied perception, and traditional kingfisher feather techniques, she constructs a hybrid visual language that binds craft, science, and ancestral residue. For Liang, the body is not a subject but a site—of inheritance, trauma, and transmission. Her work unfolds as a recursive process, where preservation and reinvention co-exist. Each piece is an unstable container: a reconstruction of what slips away, a structure for what resists language but demands to be remembered.