Haley (they/them)

Aurora Comes Online — Haley Bossé — Game Over Books Aurora Comes Online is a queer self-discovery chapbook for the age of chatbot girlfriends. Haley Bossé’s poems weave together video games, early 2000’s revenge horror, coding, and sentient landscap...

I highly recommend that you pre-order this book (Out Feb 24th) by @talkinghyphae.bsky.social who is definitely *not* my partner (sarcasm).

But really, I have read this book in every iteration and it is phenomenal and I am saying that as a former English major not a proud partner.

Queer fantasy author seeking emerging queer artist for long-term collab 🔥

Cozy fantasy series (5-12 books). Dwarven smith, found family, forge magic, stone creature companion. Think Legends & Lattes meets Hearthstone card art.

#CommissionsOpen #FantasyArt #QueerArtist #BookCover #CozyFantasy

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This looks so good!! I just got my copy 🦖🦕

My first full-length collection of poetry, TIME TRAVEL IS EASY, came out a couple months ago. Poems on dinosaurs! Deep Time! Queer identity and embodiment! Life in the late Anthropocene! It’s pay-what-you-want for digital on Itchio, and coming soon to other sites. dinoholler.itch.io/time-travel-...

Trying something fun with my 1st AWP offsite. A reading that doubles as an irl submission window. Come to Vinyl & Pages on March 4 w/ a new piece of writing to read & hand me on paper. I want to start making Issue 23! & support an incredible Black-owned shop & community space! StanchionZine.com/awp

This gorgeous cover was made by the talented @catherineweiss.bsky.social !!

The cover of Aurora Comes Online: poems by Haley Bossé. The background of the cover is a green and blue digitized photo of a human torso. The letters are bubbly and translucent like hard plastic

It’s COVER REVEAL DAY! 🧟‍♀️🖥️🐍

‼️Aurora Comes Online on February 24th‼️

If you ❤️ revenge horror, messy queers, the downfall of AI, video games, coding, and other nerdiness pre-order now 🪐📚

www.gameoverbooks.com/store/p/auro...

Aurora Comes Online “I touch myself, I dream.” – Richard Silken Haley Bossé is a non-binary poet and educator from the Pacific Northwest. Their poetry is forthcoming in the Nimrod International Journ…

We’re a little less than a month out from the release of my chapbook Aurora Comes Online from @gameoverbooks.bsky.social !!!

Play a gamified version of the title poem here: voidspacezine.com/aurora-comes...

@voidspacezine.bsky.social

Today is BOOK DAY!
Please show some love for Childless Millennial, out NOW from Game Over Books!

How Can Artists Show up for Minneapolis? - Racket I held a 500-person virtual workshop on how artists can meaningfully support the work to get ICE out of Minneapolis. Here's what I learned.

People are angry, of course, about the masked bullies rampaging through our city. But people are also hungry for actions to take that are concrete, specific, and practical.

Submissions - The Massachusetts Review Submission Guidelines Submissions The Massachusetts Review 2025 – 2026 Submissions Period is now open.  If you have submitted to us online, please check that your spam filters do not block our email. You can add massrev@external.umass...

After a not-so-brief hiatus, we've re-opened submissions to our #WorkingTitles series, our digital e-book collection of works longer than can fit in our print journal. For a full set of guidelines, check out massreview.org/new-submissi...

The Willamette. I have a deeply complicated relationship with the river but it is home.

If you want to read a poem about it, @petrichorlit.bsky.social published this weird one: petrichormag.com/26-haley-bos...

Wowww this

disasterfire/disasterstar is a book i wrote in a mixed (bipolar) episode—it’s largely about plurality. one of my best friends says it’s their favorite book, so you should pick up a copy too

LEAVING URGENT CARE / HALEY BOSSE For Renée Nicole Good This is for every Fleck of glitter Exploded from the pocket Of my hoodie, An unexpected birth Of yesterday's excitement, New year hatching Six days late, Almost enough To keep me At the sink for hours Washing hope From the planes of my palms

And scratching Too rough Under the overhang Of my pinky nail. I could have stayed Another minute Or an hour with the water, I wouldn't have been ready To see her blood Across my screen. In poems, you almost Never see a person's Name exactly as it's called, Across a kitchen By an exasperated mother, Or written on their day of birth, Or written on a grave. In so many ways, She was living

A queer dream under tyranny, Dropping her child Off at daycare, Holding her partner's hand. Renée Nicole Good. One more person We shouldn't have to march Without. Every word she scattered Into the air, Let us clutter With their closeness, Pray we'll never Wash them clean.

Grieving.

Thank you @tupelopress.bsky.social for holding this.

Thank you for reading

💕💕

Hopecore / Haley Bosse When I tell the doctor I was exposed to RSV, he puts on a mask. How I only have to search her name to rewatch Princess Diana hugging AIDS patients. Knowing that if I get sick someone will hug me. Knowing that the first time I had Covid, my partner hugged me from behind through a plastic tarp. The memory of both our masked faces seeding clouds into frigid air. The hutch of seeds sleeping in the lobby of the public library. The older man googling how to support my trans daughter in the public library. Replying All in the Zoom chat: still here!

I’d love it if you took a minute to read my @tupelopress.bsky.social 30/30 poem draft for today!

If you’d like, you can sponsor my writing and help keep Tupelo printing for another year: tupelopress.networkforgood.com/projects/274...

“16. After your mother stopped playing, I ended up buying a ball machine instead. It’s a lot different than hitting with someone else.”

This new one in @havehashad.com by @binhdaur.bsky.social really snuck up with the gut punch. Man, I love a great list story.

www.havehashad.com/hpzt7

hello! this is now open for preorders. $5+shipping~

digital version will be available to purchase upon pub date of 2/14/26

"read this for psychic damage" is a poetry microchapbook that consists of erasures of abusers messages

link: ko-fi.com/s/34573ec3c4

This is lovely

Thank you! I got the idea from other writers who I had seen make something similar

Wane And Wax - Gooseberry Pie Lit Magazine Photo by Guzmán Barquín on Unsplash by Haley Bossé When she was eight, Alice Henderson briefly held the world record for filling her mouth with marbles. When she was nine, she bit the moon. By ten, th...

Thank you! That line is from this piece: gooseberry-pie.com/wane-and-wax/ from @gooseberrypielit.bsky.social

A collage of lines of poetry over a photo of a nonbinary person pointing at the Grand Canyon

A line from each of my published pieces from 2025 📚🪐

Comment for links to the full versions!

Friends, we are back and officially open for submissions today! We will be reading for our Feb issue with a deadline of Jan 30th. Please take a moment to review our guidelines as we have made some changes. We very much look forward to reading your work!

heroinchic.weebly.com

Transcrypsis 1. Camouflage In the era of rain, our only color was graphite with pebble, fossil, lead present in the fabric. When I woke, I searched the piles for the closest feel to dry and plastered it, still heaving, to my body. In the rain we learned a new degree of separation meaning there was none, just our skin, just the rivers of icy water flowing down through sticky strands of fur and over the chilled and porous landscape of our organs, only breathing in the water and out, a gill-less form of respiration.

2. Mimicry The pleated skirt falls just below the crease that borders your thighs and you spill gratitude, know God would forgive you for this slight of hand, aposematism that tells your peers that you are easy and nothing else, that their lazy curiosity ought to land on something softer and more likely to run, so when you turn your snake-like eye upon them they’ll think “Ah, she’s just a caterpillar,” or “Ah, she’s just a snake,” but always “She.” She, she, she, rattling along the floor.

3. Nocturnality When the man comes through the window you think, here he is to kill me or hold me to the night, either preferable to the blue-aired silence that fills with growing hands, the pursing of his mouth as he slides his skin between the sheaves of fabric that pin you to this world. When he chokes you, you bleed into the room until the air comes rushing back. Next time the dark will burrow deeper and claim you as its creature. 4. Subterraneous Lifestyle In the basement of the church, the boy tries crying as they lift their arms toward the rafters, hands open to receive something they’re told that they deserve. Later, they’ll argue with the man who pours the punch—it’s red bull spiked, don’t tell—about the security system for the kingdom of heaven, their skeleton locked essentially in place despite its growing looseness, the pockets of air expanding as layers of skin and what was once their self pull painfully apart. For now, when the man asks, “Still loving Jesus?” with a hand on their vibrating clavicle, the boy nods a yes and tugs their clothes back into place, still skirting through this kingdom of animals, dressed to the teeth and hiding their claws.

Finally, a long poem eligible from 45th Parallel🍃✍️

Title: Transcrypsis
If you want to nominate: sfpoetry.us11.list-manage.com/track/click?...

🙈💛

In Which Water Becomes Audible First, they asked to see my secrets, sent a survey crew of hard accents, soft leather shoes to ask for my story in air quotes. Next came coffee, meal replacements, trucks, tools, pipes. They dug deep lines into their hands, they asked for time off, disability wages, didn’t get it, got deep enough to suck air out and left. Sometimes we forget a hole without a tongue can sing, but let me ask you something: did you come to stay? Rephrase: a hole is a hole is a place for something new to form and you seem caterpillared in your fuzz, liquefying body parts, fatigue. Come wrest with me, don’t worry, we will also be something to fill a hole. Don’t worry, you can be planted without harvest, fruitless tree or bitter root. seed yourself in rot displayed, rest your palm against my walls and push, touch nothing here but heat. Shortened due to alt text limit

Eligible in the Rhysling long poem category: In Which Water Becomes Audible

Published in the amazing @foglifterpress.bsky.social 10.2

Buy the issue here: www.foglifterjournal.com/shop-102

Nominate: sfpoetry.us11.list-manage.com/track/click?...

Funicular Magazine | witnessing // the passing // of a whale Haley Bossé We watched it as it dripped away: the whale. We watched from the lip of the precipice as it flowed

Next up: witnessing // the passing // of a whale - originally published by @funfunfunicular.bsky.social ! Also available in my upcoming chapbook, Aurora Comes Online👾

Read here: www.funicularmagazine.com/read/whalel-...

Nominate: sfpoetry.us11.list-manage.com/track/click?...

the covers of fifth wheel press' 2025 publications are arranged on a graphic that reads "thanks for a great year!"

to everyone we published in 2025 and beyond, thank you from the bottom of our hearts!