The Quarterless Review ︎

A weekly, collaborative journal harvested from the fields of isolation.
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Review ︎

A weekly, collaborative journal harvested from the fields of isolation. 
Learn more...


︎   ︎   ︎

Featured Artists:

Distrust of Groupthink
Love of Groupthink

Three Poems by:


distrust of groupthink
love of groupthink

an exchange balanced on the sliver of life
given in between profit of profit we
collect to exchange contactless, but caress
nothing so easy as peeling an orange and
picking off all the pith and watching unbearable
unbearable saying success success success like
breaths no longer being taken is anything but

I cower. She’s cool honey, if only you could
see the like rolling in on the platform I. Morning
har, I don’t exist you are inside me disco dancing,
I hope you hope we currently in your roundness
I hope to find so much relief there but may have to
meet you alone. Just the two of us though so
no groupthink can interfere with that then
then it will come, but it will be good and coo.

They had no outside space and then the thought
wasn’t with them, there was no empathy for the
thought to appear for the group thinking -
could not understand not being the proprietor of

Instead could burrow deep the warren and nestle
there unperturbed, undisturbed by the unfurling
beast. I knew it a beast because it would look
itself in the mirror and say “I am flawless. I am
flawless” until everyone lost the will to say beast.


and then you are both left dripping

standing holding hands
on a fine line then slap
a paintbrush dipped in
vermillion and vermillion
slaps into the side of the
first persons face      then
smears      then slaps into
the side of the second persons
face         smears once more paint
in the orifices, left lug first
then mouth, nose, pores



I had a hog once; she came when called
shout “hog!” and pause, when she comes
the hair is course, pushed backwards
and is amicable to the fingertip’s touch

If held, is a verb without a noun, then
no property is kept. Looking loosely
at you from the toilet seat, wondering
how much of my space would come back

Ferrograph ovd blinked amber from the
front of the bus, a man in a husky coat
leaves a half-filled latte in the aisle

When I left my hogs in your care, did you
masturbate while they were in the room?

Maybe you are lucky they don’t have lips
to speak. They always whispered: “more”

Follow Rosie:

Instagram: @rosie__rob
Twitter: @Rosie__Roberts
Map Magazine:


Rosie Roberts is an artist and writer from Glasgow interested in observing overlapping relations. She focusses on paratextual matter, for instance: live presence in tandem with an artwork, footnotes as evidence of time spent reading; cinematic experiences and entwined events or (auto)biographies. Her practice is interdisciplinary and her work hybrid in form. Rosie is currently Reviews Co-Editor at MAP magazine with artist Alison Scott and writing a rained through book of notes about Glasgow, titled 'portals' forthcoming with SPAM Press this year.