by Nate Sumislaski
midnight moon creeping up behind my back
and as eyes glare
beyond the horizon of desperation,
I’m praying for thunder.
Is it more or less moral than hoping for lightning?
my heart in the house of life
brings me back to death
for my hours are short
and my minutes shorter.
Do Beauty, Truth, Revolution
mean anything anymore?
maybe not now Love
but they did at some point
I will breath my fatal breath.
That I can be certain of
to inhale the black poison
of your heart
than all the alcohol I’ve ever had
and you used to seem like a crescent moon
in your youth
or maybe my youth’s imagination
but you were there.
and I never got to know you
barely even said “Hello.”
is the blood stained on my saddle?
or brown brisk branches snap
like that one picture I have of you on my phone?
I tried to forget everything we had together
but it’s almost midnight
and the moon has clouded my mind.
Nate Sumislaski is an English major at the University of Connecticut. In his free time, he enjoys strumming an acoustic guitar, going on hikes in deep and treacherous woods, and listening to Bob Dylan (but never all three at once).