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BUT THE WORST OF THESE IS LOVE by David Thornbrugh if you die first I will be like that dog I saw yesterday clutching a stick the size of a baseball bat in its jaws barely able to breathe on the hottest day of the year unable to sweat or pant feet away from cool lake water |
INSOMNIAC by Fabio Sassi |
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THE MAN by Holly Day breathe in, the sky grows dark—all the things you were before fade and disappear the treasured memories, the dreams when did night stop being stars and moon and lightning bugs and become only black? you were once a man, remember, and not this shambling hulk of rotting meat and blind eyes. Remember. you exhale and it's a phlegmatic wheeze, full of spores from all the other things dying inside of you, fungus brackets the walls of your lungs, blooms bright, fiercely orange you imagine your insides must be beautiful now. inhale and it's useless, there's no reason to breathe when you're already dead, all you need to know is that the approaching lights ahead are torches of villagers. flames and noise and all you see is red and real and this is your life. rending and tearing. forget. exhale because you forget you have no need to inhale, streams of steam and dreams of lying back on satin sheets, alive again or perhaps just real once more, allowed to die in a bed, on your bed, just like everybody else. |
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